True Sangheili : An Elite's tale
by Wolverfrog49
Summary: Scholar one day, warrior the next. But are the motives behind the war with the humans as innocent as the Sangheili, Sorran, believes? An act of heresy unveils a conspiracy spanning thousands of years which could bring about the ruin of the Covenant.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_Edict of the Most High Prophet of Truth, 9th Age of Reclamation._

By the authority of the noble Prophets of Truth, Regret, and Mercy.

Henceforth, any and all battle worthy Sangheili are to be transferred from any idle posts in High Charity and/or upon any Covenant held world/ship into the active combat. Those amongst the excused are the Honour Guard, the Councillors, and the mentally ill, physically unfit, and the old. Female Sangheili are, as always, prohibited from taking part in any military action.

Any Sangheili engaged in a guard post, other than the Honour Guard, will be replaced by the Jiralhanae until such a time as the High Council deems otherwise. Any Jiralhanae in question of where they now stand shall direct all enquiries to Tartarus, Chieftain of the Jirahanae.

Failure to adhere to this edict will result in death. No exceptions. These are trying times, my brothers. The Human infidels persist in resisting the might of the Covenant. Rest assured, this 'war' as some are calling it, will be over soon -- to be forgotten and dismissed as an insignificant event in Covenant history.

**Part one - Sorran**

Sorran cursed his bad luck. After centuries of peace, a war had to break out in his lifetime. And this wasn't the kind of war the Covenant was used to -- a rebellion, or a species to be absolved into their empire. The humans were smart, ruthless, and mighty warriors. Whilst the may use old technology, it was effective. Many a Covenant soldier had died at the hands of a crude human projectile.

The High Council had realised the threat these humans posed to the Covenant, and so every battle worthy Sangheili had been drafted into the Covenant. Sorran missed the days as a scribe in the Great Library of High Charity. A job usually reserved for the Prophets, it had taken much study on his part to finally be accepted into the library. And now all this.

Sorran looked down at the Plasma Rifle he held within a long hand with disgust. He'd never a fired a weapon in his life, never expressed a desire to do so. Yet here he was now, garbed in the traditional blue armour of a Sangheili Elite minor. He looked into a puddle at his feet, and was surprised by how warrior-like he looked.

Then again, every Sangheili was like that. Even before the days of the Covenant, theirs had been a militaristic society. Little had changed. Sorran looked every part the noble Sangheili he was supposed to be -- a little over eight foot tall, with narrow eyes and sharp teeth upon his mandibles. He resented that.

He brought up a hand to admire the way his energy shield flared ever so slightly as the patter of heavy rain fall bounced off it. At least that was a bonus of being a Sangheili in this war, Sorran mused as he looked over at a huddle of Grunts, desperately trying to gather what little warmth they could from the small, flickering fire. One Grunt was getting a little too close to the flames...

"Careful there!" Sorran called over, "Methane is a flammable gas, and your mask is a little too close to that flame Unggoy."

The five diminutive figures instantly all drew away from the fire, suddenly eyeing it as if were a deadly predator. A few moments later however, they shrugged and drew up to the flame again, in just as much of a precarious position as before. Sorran sighed, and turned away. He walked over to his superior, a Sangheili Major, who had been observing the Grunts with amusement.

"You waste your words on them my brother; Unggoy are notorious for being extremely dim witted." The Major remarked, crossing his arms smugly.

"Perhaps. Yet they are under our command, and we should strive to keep them safe, no matter how futile the endeavour may be." Sorran replied, disliking the way the crimson coloured Sangheili talked about them as if they were dogs.

The major cocked his head to one side, and looked at Sorran in an evaluating manner.

"I don't think I've seen you around these parts before brother. Are you new?" The major asked, as if he personally knew every Sangheili which roamed the outpost. Which, Sorran thought, he probably did.

"Yes, I'm new. Until a few weeks ago, I was a scribe in the Great Library of High Charity. Suddenly, I'm drafted and sent out here. My name's Sorran." He said, holding out a hand. The major looked uncertain for a moment, then grabbed Sorran's hand in a firm grip and shook it, once.

"Zharn." The major said simply. Sorran assumed it was the major's name. "So, the Great Library. You must not have seen much combat action there." It was a statement, no a question.

Sorran nodded in agreement.

"That's right. I've never fired a weapon in my life. Never planned to."

Zharn smiled.

"Well then, we shall have to remedy that. We can't have the Unngoy outstripping you in combat. But for now, we shall eat, and we shall talk. Now tell me, is High Charity truly as wondrous as they claim it is? I have always wished to visit."

"Ah, it is a truly wondrous sight Zharn. I am not usually a very religious person; I believe in the Great Journey, don't get me wrong. To suggest otherwise would be blasphemy. But I prefer the solid facts my scrolls give me. Yet when I behold the Forerunner Dreadnought in the morning as I walk though the holy city, it makes me want to get down on my knees and pray." Sorran replied eagerly, glad that they both had a point of interest.

"I was once going to embark upon a pilgrimage to High Charity once." Zharn remarked, staring into the Unngoy's fire in the distance. The rain echoed, distorting his words. "But my father fell ill, and so I had to tend to him back on Sangheilios. He died, soon after. The Covenant didn't give me much time to grieve though. I was called back into duty a day afterwards."

Sorran hesitated a moment, then placed a consoling hand upon Zharn's shoulder.

"I'm sorry for you loss." The Sangheili Minor said. "I too know what's it's like to lose a family member to an illness. My dear sister, Forerunners preserve her soul, died but a year back."

Zharn grunted, and shook off his hand.

"Let us dispel these melancholy thoughts brother. Come, we should eat. I hear the Kig-yar have been cooking up a stew. I'd better be there to make sure an offensive Unggoy doesn't become part of it. "

Sorran laughed at what he thought to be a joke, and followed after the Major. Zharn didn't laugh. Perhaps he wasn't joking after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two - Warrior  
**  
"That plasma rifle at your belt, Sorran. Bring it out." Zharn commanded, and Sorran obeyed, grasping to delicate looking blue handle.

"Excellent." Zharn congratulated as if the Sangheili Minor had actually accomplished something. "Now, I'm sure you know how the plasma is channelled, being a Scribe."

"Magnetic coils embedded within either side of the weapon direct the plasma into a desired path." Sorran recited from a text he had read once in a book about Covenant weapons.

"Good." Zharn simply said, and strode over to Sorran, looking at the way he held the rifle. He nodded appreciatively. "Now, the plasma rifle is capable of sustained fire, but the hotter it comes, the more inaccurate it is too. Keep that it mind. The most talented warriors fire short bursts, then take cover whilst it cools down."

"I understand Major." Sorran replied, inclining his head.

"I would certainly hope so. Now, look forward. I have set up deployable shield barriers in the distance. Your challenge for today is to bring every shield down with your rifle. Should one pop up before you are finished, you must start again. Begin."

Sorran brought the plasma rifle up at arms length, took aim, and fired. There was no recoil whatsoever as three super heated bolts of plasma surged out of the tip of the rifle, and crashed into the foremost shield. The shield rippled, and turned a deep red. The Sangheili Minor fired again, and the shield depleted.

"Well done." Zharn said. "Now you must take down the other nine, before the first can pop up again.

Sorran concentrated, and managed to take down a further five. But just as soon he took the sixth down, the first one popped up again. Sorran swore, and Zharn chuckled. The Minor waited a minute for them to all pop up again, and once they had, attempted the challenge again. He got seven this time, but once again, the first regenerated.

"This is impossible!" Sorran cried after the seventh try.

Zharn laughed now, openly.

"Yes Sorran, it is impossible. With one plasma rifle anyway. This task was so you would learn to efficiently use the rifle, rather than accomplishing it."

Sorran looked at the crimson Sangheili, shook his head, and lowered the rifle to his side.

"You've had me waste my time and temper upon an impossible task?" The Minor asked in disbelief. "That's low Zharn."  
The Major merely laughed once again, and told Sorran to holster his rifle. Zharn drew out from his person two sharp, steel blades. Sorran recognised them as holding the shape of the Energy Sword, reserved usually for only the highest ranking Sangheili. Zharn passed one over to him.

"Zharn, I don't think I'm allowed to use this." Sorran protested, holding out the blade as if it were a deadly plague. Zharn looked puzzled for a second, then his face displayed recognition.

"Nay, do not worry Sorran. What you are holding now is not a pure energy blade, but a metallic representation of it, crafted with the same element we use to create Hunter shields. Even the lower ranking Sangheili are permitted to use it. Whilst you may be hard pressed to cut through shields with it, it is most effective against anything else. I will teach you how to handle it."

Over the next few hours thus, Sorran learnt the correct usage for the blade, uppercuts, lunges, parries, and as the sun began to set, he felt he had become a lot more proficient at fighting.

"You've made remarkable progress today." Zharn praised, nodding as he did. "Of course, it is never too hard to train a Sangheili to fight: deep within every one of them is a warrior. But yes Sorran, you have exceeded my expectations. Tonight, the Deacon of this outpost is holding a sermon. I usually attend them. Will you be coming?"

Sorran thought for few moments, then nodded.

"I'd be glad to Zharn. But first, is there anywhere we can get food for our bellies? I have not eaten all day."

Zharn chuckled, and beckoned for Sorran to follow him.

"I think we can find something brother."

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"Praise be the Forerunners, divine as they are!" The Unggoy Deacon leading the sermon called, and the assembled group repeated the line.

Sorran took a quick look around the room. Nearly everyone on the outpost was here, be them Unggoy, Kig-Yar, Sangheili, or Brute.

Sorran didn't like the Brutes. Very few Sangheili did. They felt that their position was being usurped by the savages, and the the Prophets showed them more favour than they should. They were a lot like a pack of the wolves native to Sangheilios, in that they worked together to kill, and constantly relayed information to one another. They were more like animals than people.

As we were all praying on our knees, Sorran felt closer to the Gods than he had ever felt before. He never usually attended sermons, except when a friend would drag him along, and so this was a new experience to him.

As the Deacon was handing out bread from a basket, a religious custom for which the meaning escaped me, the doors to the makeshift chapel burst open, and everyone turned to see a black armoured Sangheili stand in the door way, dripping wet from rain. He must have not had his shields active.

Zharn stood up, and addressed the Sangheili.  
"Ahkrin! I did not expect you to be back so soon, what news have you for us?"

Ahkrin as he was called strode down the red, gilded carpet in the chapel, wheezing as he did so.

"Forgive me my brother, I have just ran over sixty miles without rest. Allow me a moment to catch my breath."

A single phrase was being muttered around the room -- Stealth Sangheili.

Sorran had heard of the Stealth Sangheili before; they had a vital, but reluctant task. Rather than fight in battle, their jobs were to observe the enemy, and report back. Many Sangheili thought this to be a task without honour. Even so though, it was needed.

Ahkrin grabbed onto a nearby pole, and breathed short and shallow for a few moments, then stood up.

"Humans are on the way here. With an army to rival ours." Ahkrin relayed to Zharn, prompting much chatter, especially amongst the Grunts.

"Then we shall crush them like the bugs they are!" Zharn cried inspiringly, clenching his fist as he did so. Ahkrin shook his head.

"You speak too soon brother." The black armoured Sangheili replied. "This is not just a normal human attack; I spied Demons with the army too."

The clamouring escalated, and even the Sangheili were exchanging nervous looks now. Sorran knew why, he had heard tales of these Human Demons back when he lived upon High Charity. Apparently, they were over 10 foot tall and could smite a Sangheili with a single touch. They were supposedly invincible.

"Enough!" Zharn shouted, and the room was instantly silent. "We shall not flee from these infidels, nor the Demons they collaborate with! We shall stand, and fight, and win. How long will they take to arrive?" The Major once again directed at Ahkrin.

"I cannot say for sure brother, but they had tanks with them, as well as larger, even slower vehicles. I think we have a few days to prepare ourselves." Ahkrin replied.

"Then prepare ourselves we shall! I shall contact the _Immortal Repentance_, asking for reinforcements. The rest of you, suit up, and be ready for a fight."


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter's grammar was sort of butchered by a unicode stripping site I had to use to post it on a forum. Just try and bear through it, if you're reading. It becomes fine once again next chapter. And please review, only so I know people _are_ reading.

**Part Three - Besieged**

"Sorran! We need to destroy their turrets! Lead a squad of Unggoy and destroy them, quickly!" Zharn shouted down at me from the rooftop, where he was currently engaged fighting three humans in black armour, with blue mirrored visors. Sorran nodded, and ran over to a squad of Grunts, signalling for them to follow him.

The humans were cunning, Sorran had to admit. Whilst they had all thought that the human army was still a few hours off, as their scouts relayed, the scum had dropped in these armoured soldiers via metal pods which fell from the sky. It had surprised everyone, and the humans had the advantage, for now.

Sorran ran down a side passage which would emerge on the other side of the heavy turrets which were pinning the other Covenant forces down. The Unggoy followed, armed with needler rifles.

As the Sangheili Minor ran, he encountered two humans, who quickly shouted unintelligible words in response to his appearance. Before the first could draw out his weapon, Sorran fired four rounds from his plasma rifle into the humans head, and the soldier fell to the ground

Sorran's shields flared as the other human had drawn out his weapon, and fired. Bursts of fire echoed from behind the Sangheili's back, as the Unggoy sprang into action. The human cried out in pain as the thin, crystalline shards of a needler punctured through his skin. A moment later, the shards exploded, splitting the armoured soldier into multiple sections.

Sorran looked down at the bodies with melancholia, so much life, wasted. His first kill too. Whilst most Sangheili remarked that the first kill was always the most exhilarating, Sorran only felt sick. What right did he have to judge whether or not another living creature should live. He would have stayed there all day, contemplating this terrible act, had the lead Unggoy not spoken.

"Noble one, we must take out those turrets or many shall fall!" It squeaked, and Sorran looked up, nodding. Yes, he had a duty to the Covenant. Grief was not an option.

"Yes, you are right of course. Come, we must hurry on." Sorran replied, taking care not to step on the bodies as he moved through the tunnel. The Grunts had no such inhibitions, and happily trampled over the still corpses.

They emerged out of the tunnel a moment later, into the bright light. gunfire echoed in Sorran's ears, and he looked up to see four humans operating turrets. Sorran signalled to the three Unggoy, and they began firing. The humans swore in shock and clambered off the turrets, firing. One round caught a Grunt before he knew what hit him, and he went sprawling to the ground. It made Sorran angry; a warrior had died under his command. Sorran drew out his metal blade, and leaped onto the ledge, stabbing the sword into the nearest human. It fell to to floor, convulsing.

The rest of the humans panicked and began firing upon Sorran, but the rounds simply bounced off his shields. Sorran brought the blade down on the neck of another human, and the head hit the ground, accompanied shortly after by the limp body. The other two were drawing back now, and one tripped over. Sorran quickly pounced on the screaming savage, and ended it's life.

The final soldier threw down it's weapon, and began to run. Sorran wasn't about to let it escape. He drew back the blade, and then threw. The sword arced towards the human, and lodged in it's back. The black armoured figure fell, and Sorran walked over and picked up his sword.

A voice sounded in the Sangheili Minor's ear, and he recognised it as belonging to Zharn.

"Excellent work Sorran! You have struck a mighty blow! These humans were no match for our warriors, we are disposing of the rest with ease. Come, return to the--Forerunners above, what is that?"

Sorran felt it too. A tremor in the ground. The Grunts below squeaked in terror and looked at the ground. What was it? An Earthquake? No, there was a noise too. Turning slowly, Sorran looked out towards the horizon. What he saw terrified him.

"Tanks!" Zharn shouted over the intercom. "By the prophets, get down Sorran!"

Sorran tried to run. But there wasn't enough time. He was standing on the very edge of the outpost, and so he was targeted first. Before he could even open his mouth to cry out, an explosion smashed into the ground beside him, fired from one of the tanks in the distance. His shields were of no use, as the heavy round punched straight through them. The blast sent him flying, down to the rough ground below, ten metres from the Outpost gates.

His vision flickered, and he realised with dread he was blacking out. Zharn was calling faintly in his ear.

"Sorran! Sorran...Sor-"

The world went quiet as Sorran's hearing gave out, and his eyes shut close.

He opened them in what seemed like only a few moments, but already human soldiers were within the walls of the outpost. The world went black again.

Sorran's sight restored, blurry and fuzzy. This time, the buildings in the distance were in flames. Sorran tried to move his head, but couldn't. In the corner of his eye a figure caught his attention. This human stood taller than the rest, garbed in green, full body armour.

"Demon..." Sorran managed to whisper, before he blacked out for the final time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four - Into Custody**

Pain. Intolerable, inescapable pain was all Sorran Mahaf'ee felt, as he lay in the darkness. Was he dead? No, he can't have been. It looked nothing like the Great Journey. A dark void, devoid of light and sound, only his muddled thoughts present.

Panic gripped him: what if there was no Great Journey? What if the Prophet's had lied? Was he doomed to spend all of eternity drifting in the darkness, with heavy footfall echoing around him?

Wait; footfall? Yes, the unmistakable sound of feet meeting ground was distinguishable. Perhaps he wasn't dead after all!

His suspicions were furthered as he heard voices, tiny and distant. At first, it was like a whisper, drone like. The voices grew louder though, and Sorran realised with dread that they weren't Sangheili, nor belonging to any other species of the Covenant. They were human!

Sorran wished he could see, perhaps if he could, then he wouldn't be so afraid. But he couldn't, his eyes were shut tight. Or, he suddenly thought with horror, maybe he was blind! He put those dreadful thoughts out of his mind for the time being, and concentrated on the two voices.

"I don't think there are any survivors sir." The first said, deep and echoing, as if the human was wearing a helmet.

"Well if you find one son, don't kill it. We don't have much Intel on what the Covenant are doing on Eridanus II, so if we can capture one of the higher ranking soldiers, then we can interrogate it." The other, older sounding voice spoke.

"Roger that." The first voice replied.

Sorran tried to stay still, realising that these humans were looking for survivors, in other words, him.

Slowly, Sorran's vision restored, to his relief. He could see directly in front of him now, and nearly jumped up there and then in disgust.

A mutilated Sangheili was before him; right before him, the dead warrior's ripped open, bloody chest mere centimetres from Sorran's face.

Instinctively, Sorran shifted a fraction away from the body. A mistake, as he felt a new rush of pain as he did so, through his leg. It must have been broken. Sorran couldn't help it, he yowled in agony, and sensed the two humans turn their heads towards him, even though they were behind him.

"I guess it's your lucky day sir, here's one of their so called Elite Warriors, alive and kicking." The first human said, and Sorran felt a figure come up behind him.

Sorran braced his arm, and prepared to punch the human behind him. Humans were laughably weak, and Sorran knew that even in his decrepit, weakened state, he could probably knock it out, and perhaps level the weapon it likely held at the other human before it could react.

Gritting his jaw, Sorran ignored the pain and spun around, his fist an iron club. He felt his ragged flesh smash into the human's chestplate with a ping, but it didn't have the desired effect. The human merely laughed. It didn't even fall to the ground. Impossible. More curious than afraid, Sorran lifted his head so he could actually see the human he just tried to take out, and shirked away in fear.

Looking down at him, emotionless, was a mirrored, golden visor. Sorran knew that behind that mask burned the very fires of hell.

"D-d-d-demon!" Sorran shrieked, and attempted to rise off the floor. He managed to do so, yet before he could take a single step his legs gave out underneath him, and his face smashed into the rock below, cutting his face; displaying that his shields were damaged. The Demon bent down, and scooped up Sorran like he weighed nothing.

"Yeah, you'd better be afraid." The Demon threatened, driving an armoured fist into Sorran's gut. Sorran cried out, and coughed up blood. He felt himself being slung over the Demon's shoulder, and didn't resist. There was no way he could fight something like that. Even Hunters were afraid of the Demons.

"No trouble zero-seven-eight?" The second human asked, and Sorran looked at him. This one wasn't a Demon, but seemed to be in command.

"It tried to prick me with it's sting Lieutenant, but I've got it under control. I'd knock it out, but we don't want to run the risk of brain damage. Should we get back to the Pelican sir?" The Demon asked, and the Lieutenant nodded.

"Lead on zero-seven-eight, out work here is done."

Sorran's head was swimming, and he was only vaguely aware of what was happening. He felt himself being lead out of the outpost, and the next thing he knew, he was being slung into the back of one of the humans air transports. Sorran coughed, and looked up. There were other humans in the transport, and they seemed to be afraid of Sorran. They looked at each other nervously.

The Demon got on board, and slung Sorran into a seat. He felt his head smash against the metal interior of the 'Pelican', and his hand came away from the back of his head warm and sticky with purple blood.

"You try anything, and I will break you like a twig." The Demon said, tying Sorran's hands together, as well as his legs. It was a crude material, the humans hadn't even worked out how to use energy as a means to bind someone. Still, the rough rope did the job, and Sorran couldn't move in his pitiful state. All he could do was cower in fear.

What were these humans going to do to him? His thoughts were drowned out as the human transport lifted off the ground, and it sailed off into the distance. Sorran thought about trying to jump out, the hatch was open, and he could probably survive the fall. But there was the Demon to think about, it would either grab him or shoot him before he could reach the ground. Sorran sighed, and wished he was still in his Library, back before all of this mess had begun.

Far below in the outpost, Zharn Refun'ee disengaged his active camouflage, and watched the humans leave with Sorran. At least he'd managed to slip a tracker onto the drop ship before it had left. He hadn't dared to do more, the Demon was more than a match for him.

Kicking the ground in frustration, Zharn once again activated his camouflage, and set off in pursuit of the glowing beacon on his display.

He would rescue his warrior, no matter the danger.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five -- Interrogated**

Sorran was thrown into a small cell by an entourage of five humans, not Demons. Perhaps, if Sorran hadn't been so weak, and his shields had been functioning, he could have overcome them. As he was though, there was no possible way he could have done so.

As he staggered into the cell, desperately trying to keep his balance, the Sangheili heard a heavy steel door shut behind him. Sorran's eyes searched the room, yet he could find no possible way to escape. He was trapped in the room, reinforced steel surrounding him.

A motion in an upper corner of the room caught his eye. It looked like a lens, encased by a white box. A camera, if Sorran's studies of human technology were anything to go by. He was being watched.

A table sat in the middle of the room, with a large chair next to it. Evidently, if the size of the two pieces of furniture were anything to go by, this room had been catered to Sorran's needs. On the table sat a plate of human food, and a mug of what seemed to be tea; a human beverage popular amongst some Sangheili. They were both, Sorran presumed, for him.

The Sangheili Minor sat down in the chair, and found it to be relatively comfy. Odd, that the humans would care about how settled the enemy was. Sorran had been expecting chains and a dark, dingy dungeon. Strange.

He was, however, reluctant to touch the food, at first. What if it were laced with poison? Sorran put that thought out of his mind; if they wanted him dead, then he would already be lying face down in a ditch. No, these humans evidently wanted to question him. So without further pause, Sorran wolfed down the food, attempting to soothe the hunger which gripped him. The mug of tea soothed him, the warmth spreading through his shaking body. The camera remained trained upon him the entirety of the time. There was no doubt in his mind that every move he made was being scrutinised by human experts.

Time crept by, and Sorran took the opportunity to rest. He refused to fall asleep though, after all, he was in enemy territory.

Hours later, and Sorran could not tell whether it were morning or night, a bolt clicked in the steel door confining him, and a human walked in, flanked by three marines, as they were known. The lead human didn't seem to be a soldier, he wore no visible fire arm, and was dressed casually, in a shirt and loose trousers. Not the rigid, militaristic uniform the others wore. To Sorran's bemusement, the man gave him a warm smile, yet it didn't quite extend to the eyes. Strange, once again. It was almost as if the humans were trying to convince him they were friendly...

Aha, that's what they were trying to do, Sorran realised suddenly, they were acting friendly so he wouldn't feel intimidated, and thus, he would release more information, in theory. Undoubtedly, once they had what they needed, the humans would toss him in a ditch somewhere.

Then again, perhaps they were trying to broker a piece of sorts, it would be understandable that they would've mistaken Sorran to be a high ranking soldier in the Covenant hierarchy. They would be disappointed to learn the truth.

Regardless, the human pressed a button, and a stool rose out of the floor, on the other side of the table. He sat down, and faced Sorran. Sorran tried to keep his features blank, to keep the fear out of his expression. Then again, how was a mere human to know what a nervous Sangheili looked like?

"Good morning." The human greeted, confirming the time of day. "My name's Ambassador Errand, how are you?"

Sorran remained silent, this so called Ambassador of the humans would get nothing out of him. Sorran huffed, and crossed his arms in defiance. He noticed that one marine tightened his grip on a side arm.

"Yes...quite." Errand replied somewhat nervously, his smile faded slightly. " You are an Elite yes? One of the Covenant officers?"

An Elite? Sorran had never heard the term used before. The Ambassador evidently was confused. But, to some degree at least, Sorran was a Covenant officer. He commanded Unggoy, Kig-Yar, Drones, lower class Hunters, and if the situation required it, the Brutes.

"Elite?" Sorran simply phrased, trying to seem disinterested. Errand saw the opening though, and launched into a reply.

"Yes, it's the name we have given to your race. Do you..uh..have another which would be more apt?"

Sorran remained silent, he was not going to divulge any information to these barbarians.

"Elite is good then?" The Ambassador asked, clearly mistaking Sorran's silence as a yes.

"If you wish it so." The Sangheili replied coldly.

"Good, good. Now, as you are no doubt aware, Elite, you are now a prisoner of war." Errand stated, as if something like that happened every day.

"I see. Am I to be executed?" Sorran asked, trying to seem like it didn't matter. The reality was that he was terrified of dying. Yet he knew breaking down in front of the humans would not help.

"Executed? No, it would achieve nothing. You are far more valuable to us alive." Errand replied, prompting a nod from Sorran.

"That is understandable. Now, why have you come here? I am sure it was not to exchange pleasantries human." Sorran replied, noting the wince the Ambassador gave when he spoke the word 'human'.

"Why are the Covenant attacking us?" Ambassador Errand asked, his voice thick with emotion. "What did we ever to to you?"

The question caught Sorran by surprise, and he searched for the answer. Then he realised, he didn't have one. He fought because he had been told to, nothing more, nothing less.

"I. . .know not." Sorran replied to the question, feeling foolish and ignorant. One of the marines scoffed.

"He doesn't know why he's fighting us? Yeah right, and my girl back home's a super model!" The marine said, and the others found this funny. The joke was lost upon Sorran though.

"I think he's telling the truth guys." The Ambassador said, and the marines stopped laughing.

"Seriously? You don't even know why you're attacking? That's pretty sad." A marine said, and Sorran grew angry -- how dare these infidels question the glorious Covenant's motives!

"Nay, what is truly sad, human, is how your pitiful species cannot withstand our might." Sorran replied, in the heat of the moment. He regretted it afterwards, it wasn't their fault they were weaker, and less advanced.

"Right, that's it squid face!" The burliest of the marines shouted at Sorran, ramming his rifle into the side of Sorran's face. Sorran flinched, yet did not retaliate. Luckily, the other marines restrained their friend, although, Sorran noted, they did it reluctantly.

"Let's all calm down here shall we?" Ambassador Errand soothed, looking nervously upon Sorran. He remained still.

"So you know nothing?" Errand asked anxiously, and swore when Sorran wouldn't answer, "dammit, we're getting nowhere here. Maybe I should ask the Spartan to do the questioning."

A thinly veiled threat, yet one which Sorran detected instantly. Fear showed upon his face.

"No, I will talk, just don't bring the Demon in here. . .please." Sorran pleaded, disgusted with himself. What kind of a warrior was he, to break down at the first threat? Not a warrior at all, he reminded himself, but a scholar in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Would the Covenant rescue him? Bah, unlikely. Even if they knew where he was, Sorran doubted they would waste time and resources saving him. It was more likely they would send an Assassin to silence him, doing so would be simpler and more efficient than a rescue operation.

"Smart choice freak," one of the marines said smugly. He would not be so smug were he facing Sorran on an open battlefield, him with a sword in hand.

"Tell us then, what do you know?" the Ambassador whispered. Gone was the smile, replaced by a frown. Sorran felt afraid.

"Human, until but a week ago, I was a librarian upon High--" Sorran stopped himself, realising he had nearly revealed the name of the holy city, "upon a ship in our fleet." he lied "I know little of the Covenant's plans."

"A librarian? Hard to imagine you stacking books you monster," the same aggressive marine taunted, and Sorran growled a warning. The human was beginning to try his patience.

"What is your rank in the Covenant Elite?" Ambassador Errand asked.

"Minor Sangheili." Sorran replied curtly.

"Sangheili? What is that?"

"The name of our species."

"Ah, I see. Who do you command, if anyone?"

"The lower caste of the Covenant; Unggoy, Kig-Yar, Yan'mee, Mglekgolo, Jiralhanae. Not other Sangheili, nor the Prophets."

"Whoa there, slow down. I didn't understand anything what you just said, speak English. I'll hold up photos, and you'll identify them for me."

And so the human held up images for Sorran, which he promptly identified. He felt like a traitor, selling out these secrets, but what else could he do?

"So," Errand said, once Sorran had finished, "let me get this straight. Grunts are called Unggoy, Jackals are called Kig-Yar, Drones are called Yan'mee, Hunters are called. . . bloody hell, I can't pronounce it..."

"Mglekgolo." Sorran filled in for him.

"Right, and the Brutes are called Jiralhanae, and your race, the Elites are named Sangheili. Is that right?"

The Sangheili nodded. He felt sick.

"Good, good. We're making progress. This information will be very helpful, thanks. And, one more question, what is a 'Prophet'?"

Sorran perked up. The fools didn't know what a Prophet was, they had no image of one. He decided to play dumb.

"Prophet? What do you mean?" The Minor pretended not to know.

"Don't play coy with me alien, you don't want to see me angry. Before, you mentioned a Prophet. What did you mean by that?" The Ambassador retaliated angrily.

"I know not what you speak of." Sorran replied tartly, hoping the human wouldn't be able to detect he was lying.

Errand narrowed his eyes, although what that signified amongst the humans was unknown to Sorran. To the Sangheili, it showed suspicion, perhaps it meant the same for the humans too.

"You're a liar alien, I can sense it. You said Prophet, we've got proof on tape. Sergeant Harper, beat the truth out of our guest would you?" Errand asked of one of the marines, who grinned wickedly, and walked over the Sorran.

"What's a Prophet eh?" The man asked, and Sorran shook his head.

"What do you mean?" Sorran replied uncertainly, and was rewarded by a punch to the jaw. It hurt, and Sorran tasted blood.

"What's a Prophet?"

"I don't know." Sorran repeated, and was hit again, this time on the temple. Before he could collect his thoughts, he was asked the question again.

"What's a Prophet?"

"I don't --"

Smack! Sorran was hit once again, and felt himself get pushed out of his chair. He hit his head on the hard ground, and all turned blurry. A voice called again, asking the same question. Sorran gave the same answer, albeit slurred, and was this time kicked in the side. He doubled over in pain.

Maybe he should just tell them. What could it hurt? It would give respite from the pain. No! He could not betray the Covenant; not again! He would remain silent, take the information to the grave if he had to.

Fear was replaced by anger. He was a Sangheili, not some common Unggoy! Why was he allowing himself to be abused like this? The anger surged through his body, filling him with adrenalin.

"What is, a Prophet?" The human named Harper emphasised once again, leering down at him, but this time, he received a kick to the stomach as an answer. Sorran heard the man gasp with shock and pain, and double over. The Sangheili stood tall, and faced the rest of the humans angrily. They were staring at him with newly found fear. They raised their weapons nervously.

"Freeze!" one shouted, and Sorran's anger faded as quickly as it came. He grew afraid again, afraid of the weapons aimed at him and the bullets they would fire out, ending his life. He froze.

"Stand in the corner, and put your hands on your head!"

Sorran complied with the order, and one of the other marines went to go check if the Sergeant was alive.

"He's got a pulse, he'll live, but he's gonna have one bad ass headache when he wakes up."

"_Poor Sarge_."

Gun barrels remained trained upon Sorran. Ambassador Errand stood.

"Ah, violence, how I hate it. I think we have enough information for now men, let us depart. Elite, I will question you once again in the morning. This time, I think I shall bring the Spartan in with me."

"Yes sir Colonel Errand." one of the marines spoke, and Sorran stared. The man had lied; he wasn't an Ambassador at all. Sorran had been duped, and worse, he had fallen for it.

The humans scooped up Sergeant Harper and left, slamming the door and leaving Sorran alone in the room. He gently caressed the side of his jaw. Pain shot through him; it was probably broken. His side hurt too, where the human had kicked him. Sorran felt his eyes go moist.

What had he done to deserve this cruellest of punishments?


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six - Assessment**

Zharn took a long look at the fortress below him, and sighed wearily. Many humans guarded the fortifications, armed and deadly. Active camouflage could only go so far, and the humans did have heat vision technology. Somewhat irritatingly, the camouflage systems actually _radiated_ heat, rather than masking it.

"I take it you have a plan." sounded a familiar voice from behind, making Zharn jump. The edge of the cliff crumbled procariously, causing rock to tumble down to the snow covered gorge below.

"How long have you been following me Ahkrin?" Zharn asked dispassionately, not bothering to turn around. This prompted a laugh from the Stealth Sangheili, and Zharn heard the sound of a stealth system deactivating.

"Since you left the outpost."

"Did you see any other survivors?"

"Nay, I did not. So, answer my original question. Do you have a plan?"

Zharn sighed, and shrugged. Finally, he turned around and faced Ahkrin. The sight of the Sangheili made Zharn wince. Whilst Ahkrin may have survived the brutal massacre at the outpost, he had not emerged unscathed; a great, ugly scar ran down the side of his face. It looked raw, and painful.

"Ah, you noticed my momentum of our encounter with the infidels." Ahkrin commented sardonically, perhaps a little too much so. Stealth operatives could be very cold at times.

"How did it happen?"

"A human bullet caught me with my shields down; it was all I could do to quickly activate them before it penetrated further."

"I'm certain your thick skull would have protected you Ahkrin.

"Very amusing Zharn, I'll remember that next time you ask me to save your life."

"Save _my_ life? If I recall correctly, it was I who rescued you from the barrel of a human shotgun back upon Harvest."

"And I have rescued you a hundred times since then. Now let us stop bickering like old Councillors, and focus our attention on saving Sorran." Ahkrin reminded Zharn, ending the argument.

"I take it you've already scouted the area." Zharn stated. It wasn't a question.

"Ah, sometimes I think you know me a little too well brother. Yes, I have scouted."

"And?" Zharn pressed.

"And what?" Ahkrin replied, and Zharn clenched his jaw in annoyance.

"Why must you always be so difficult Ahkrin? What have you discovered?"

"Details are very important my friend. Now, to the east of the base, there is a ventilation shaft I noticed. It's a tight fit, but I'm sure with our shields down, we can fit. It should lead us directly inside." Ahkrin explained, and Zharn frowned.

"And what do we do once we are inside the belly of the best?" he asked concerned, and Ahkrin smiled.

"We improvise. Do not question Zharn, I am the expert of infiltration here. You can try a frontal assault if you wish, I'm sure you'll provide an ample distraction to make my job easier. That is, until you die."

Zharn grimaced, and shook his head.

"Dying isn't one of my priorities as of now. We shall try your plan, there is no other way."

"There's always another way Zharn; finding it is the real challenge."

Zharn merely grunted in response to the Stealth Sangheili's frosty demeanour, and checked the battery of his plasma rifle of a way of reassuring himself. It was on 73% charge. Adaquete enough, he could recharge it later.

"Let us waste no time, every moment we wait brings closer the chance of Sorran being killed. Lead on to this shaft Ahkrin."

Surprisingly, Ahkrin merely shook his head.

"No, not now. We shall wait until twilight before striking; the humans see poorly in the darkness, and so we will have the advantage."

"Sorran is in danger Ahkrin! We do not take risks where our brothers are concerned." Zharn barked, not wishing to wait.

"Are your brains addled? If the humans wanted Sorran dead, then he would be so. As it is, they seem to wish to question him. We have time enough, Zharn, to request reinforcements if we so wished it. Sorran would probably hold. But even I would not risk that, so we shall strike tonight."

Ahkrin's rebuke stung Zharn, and he stared at the floor.

"Very well, we shall wait. I but pray to the Forerunners that you are right Ahkrin."

"When have I ever been wrong?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Seven - Covert Extraction**

Sorran paced up and down the small room, stretching his ached legs. His jaw had swollen up, as a result of the 'interrogation', and his teeth dug into the lining of his puffed up gums. Luckily, Sangheili were quick healers, the wound would go down soon enough. That didn't stop it hurting at that moment though.

An ugly bruise had arisen on the side of his waist, from where he had been kicked. The humans truly were barbarians.

Two of the infidels stood posted outside the metal bars of the cell, each armed with one of their primitive weapons. Crude as they were though, they were still powerful enough to kill an unshielded soldier of the Covenant.

For the first time since being drafted into the legions of the Covenant forces, Sorran missed having a plasma rifle, or any weapon for that matter, at his side. The Sangheili felt defenceless, weak, vulnerable. Which, Sorran reflected, he was.

He looked closely at the two humans. One was dark skinned, with short hair and green eyes, the other fair skinned, with what seemed like hair to be growing on it's face, much in the same way of the Prophets, and Brutes. They seemed to both be male, quite young too, if Sorran's observations of human age were anything to go by.

The dark skinned one was at full attention it seemed, watching me with narrowed eyes, his finger perpetually resting on the trigger. As if he were a threat in this condition, hah!

The other human seemed to be sat on a chair of sorts, brow furrowed in concentration and eyes trained on an object in his hands, with human writing plastered all over it's papery surface. Sorran was intrigued.

"What is it that you are doing human?" The Elite asked softly, walking to the edge of the cell, so he was close to the barred, steel door. The human looked up from the object in his hand startled, with a questioning look upon his face. He then noticed that Sorran was looking at what he held in his left hand now, and comprehension dawned upon him.

"I'm ah...reading, Lord of the Rings." the human replied, confused by Sorran's interest.

This surprised Sorran. It was obvious, now that he thought about it, that some humans could read; despite how primitive they were in the Covenant's eyes, they still possessed some impressive technology. Naturally they would write instructions down.

"Can every human read?" Sorran asked, curiosity piqued.

"Well, yeah, basically everyone. We're not idiots you know."

This revelation shocked him; whilst it was true that most Sangheili and practically all the Prophets could read, the lower classes such as the Unggoy, Kig yar, and even the Jirahanae were taught but a few runes. Knowledge was power, and the higher races of the Covenant, especially the Sangheili did not want them to have power. That the humans considered it normal to read was an alien concept.

Before Sorran could reply with another question, the dark skinned human chose then to speak.

"Enough chit chat!" he barked at the battered Elite, who slunk away from the cell door, disappointed. The human then turned to the fair skinned one who had been reading, "come on man, you know what the Colonel said. 'No speaking to the Elite', I believe his words were."

"Yeah, I know. My bad."

"I didn't know you liked all that fantasy crap by the way."

"Crap? It's Tolkien man, it's a classic."

"It's like, six hundred years old!"

"So? It's still great."

_So I wasn't to be spoken to?_ Sorran thought to himself. Interesting, although not surprising. Indeed, if he had held a human captive, he would have forbidden any but him to speak to it.

Despite the danger Sorran was in, he was growing extremely bored. He could not sleep, the pain in his jaw and side saw to that.

Units passed in the cell. What was it that the humans named units? Ah yes, 'hours.' Regardless of the name, they passed.

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"The exit is barred Ahkrin!" Zharn hissed to his companion, who was behind him in the ventilation shaft. The two Sangheili had made it into the base where Sorran was held captive, yet they had run into a problem.

"That's a rather large thorn in our side." Ahkrin replied dryly, peering over Zharn's shoulder, "well noble Zharn Refun'ee, what is your plan?"

"I cannot break the bars hunched as I am. There is not enough room to apply real force. I could melt the bars with my rifle."

"No! That would not be wise, the humans would hear the shots. Here, use my energy blade." Ahkrin snapped back instantly, reaching his arm around Zharn, the inscribed hit of the plasma blade offered in his outstretched hand.

Zharn grimaced at the blade, and turned his head around to face Ahkrin.

"It is not permitted for one of my rank to use such a weapon my brother. The council, would have my head." the Sangheili Major lectured, pushing the hand holding the hilt away.

"Do not be foolish Zharn, the council need not know! Just cut the bars, and hand back the sword. I would do it myself, yet I cannot reach from where I am, nor can I move past you. Just take the blade." Ahkrin intoned, shoving the hilt of the sacred blade into Zharn's reluctant hand.

It was a strange custom, but none below the rank of Zealot were permitted to use the holy Energy Blade, designed by the Forerunners themselves. The only exclusion from this rule was that of the Stealth Sangheili's, and Spec Ops operatives needs. Which was why Ahkrin possessed such a weapon.

Heresy though it may be, Zharn took the weapon, and activated it. A sharp crack rung through the air as the plasma protruded, shaped by the magnetic boundaries around it. Had even this been witnessed by a councillor, Zharn would be in shackles.

The weapon sung of purity and honour, even as it was lowered by Zharn onto the metal bars of the grill excluding the two Sangheili from the confines of the base. It cut through easily, leaving the severed ends of the bars a searing mess. Zharn slightly pushed, and the grill opened enough for the two to fit through.

"Was that so hard brother? Come, pass me my blade back, and let us go on." Ahkrin said then, and for a moment Zharn felt a rush of irrational jealousy. Why should this sneaking, dishonourable bungler be allowed to use a weapon of the gods when he, Zharn, he who had won countless battles in the glorious Covenant's name was forbidden to even hold it?

The jealousy subsided after a moment, however, and Zharn was left feeling very foolish. Wordlessly, he passed the sword over to Ahkrin with no little reluctance, and moved through the exit of the shaft, dropping some eight feet to the ground below, with elegant grace. The Stealth Sangheili followed the Major's suit, surveying the room.

"And now?" Zharn demanded, looking helplessly around the small room they had dropped in. Human computers were stored in the corner, devoid of activity. A ornate clock hung in the room, it's pendulum rocking back and forth. A single human fan stood, blowing cold air into the small enclosure. It was all very mundane.

"I've infiltrated human bases before, they usually have their detention blocks on the ground floor. Follow my lead, and stay plastered to my tracks." Ahkrin intoned, bringing a small device out from his belt as he did so. Zharn recognised it as an Electronics jammer, used by stealth operatives. Once activated, it would send out a signal, knocking out all electronic surveillance items in the area.

Zharn engaged his active camouflage, as did Ahkrin. The humans may be able to detect it with a heat sensor, but it was still well worth using. Stealth at the expense of slightly weakened shields. The Sangheili Major approached the wooden door of the room's exit, and, grasping the small handle, opened it slightly ajar, to reveal an empty corridor.

"All is clear." Zharn whispered over a secure communications link, derived from Forerunner technology. His voice would be undetectable to all but Ahkrin.

"Then proceed brother, unless you consider yourself inept." Ahkrin mocked, amusement evident in his voice. Zharn scowled, and moved into the narrow stretch of corridor, wary of danger. Ahkrin followed up, sniffing the air before them.

"Humans have been here recently, and behold, fresh footprints scatter the floor. Hurry onward, this area is patrolled frequently." Ahkrin reported, and Zharn took the Stealth operatives advise, heading down a flight of stairs on the left.

The Sangheili Major suddenly paused when he heard murmuring -- human voices around the corner.

"That Elite we've got banged is a nutter, punched the Sarge in the gut he did!" the first human spoke in a heavy accent.

"Yeah, well, the poor thing was kind of being abused Harry." the second human replied.

"'Poor thing'!" the human named Harry exclaimed, crowing with laughter, "that's an Elite mate. They're the enemy, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, it's just that it looked so pathetic snivelling and bawling like that. Besides, it says it used to be a Librarian or something."

"We're not allowed to drink on duty Richard, remember?" Harry mocked, whilst Zharn drew ever closer to the one named Richard.

"I've not been drinking! I'm being serious, jeez man stop being a --"

Richard never had a chance to complete his sentence however, for at the moment Zharn struck, landing a heavy blow on the side of the man's head with his plasma rifle. The human collapsed instantly, dead or alive Zharn did not know. The other human, Harry, swore when he saw Zharn's camouflage fade as a result of the attack, but he could not cry for help, for at that moment, Ahkrin sprang into action, jumped upon the human, covering his mouth with one large hand, and, reaching down, broke Harry's neck with one fluid motion. The silent screaming ended.

"Nice move." Zharn complimented Ahkrin, looking down at the two bodies. Ahkrin pointed down at the human Zharn had felled; Richard.

"Is this one dead?" Ahkrin whispered.

"I don't know." Zharn confessed. Ahkrin took one look at the human lying on the ground, raised his plasma rifle, and shot the body twice in the head, melting it into a puddle of fleshy liquid.

"It is now."

Zharn didn't like the way Ahkrin had handled that. He had no problem killing human, by no means, but killing one in cold blood, whilst it lay on the ground, unconscious; there was no honour to be found in that. Still, they had a mission to complete, and so he forced the unpleasant thought out of his mind.

"Where now Ahkrin?" Zharn asked of the other Sangheili, who was checking the corpses for a pulse, just in case. Thorough bastard.

"Can you not read the sign above Zharn?" Ahkrin jested, motioning upwards. Human letters were wrote upon a green, luminous board.

"Those are not Forerunner glyphs brother." Zharn stated bluntly.

"Your point being?"

"I cannot understand them."

Ahkrin froze in disbelief, and rose up from his corpse checking duties. He turned towards Zharn.

"Truly? Gods, what do you learn when you become an officer of the Covenant then? All Stealth Sangheili are taught to fluently speak and read the languages of every known species."

"Even that of the Huragok?"

"Yes, but it is by far the hardest. Sangheili throats are not made for making all those chirps and whistles. More often than not, we use sign language when communing with them."

Zharn scowled, painfully aware that his own education was...lacking. No doubt Sorran was as educated as Ahkrin, being the scholar he was.

"We can discuss this later. Tell me what the letters say, and let us be on our way." Zharn ordered, despite the fact he and Ahkrin's rank amounted to the same.

"Hmph, very well. It reads "Detention block A", with an arrow pointing down the ramp on your right."

"And do you think Sorran could be down there?" Zharn replied earnestly.

"It's wholly possible. Come, let us go. Re-engage your camouflage."

They both moved swiftly down the ramp, which was painful to traverse with Zharn's hoofed feet. Cameras died as they moved past them, as a result of Ahkrin's jammer. They would have to move quickly, it wouldn't be long until the humans realised something was wrong.

They reached a dark corridor at the end of the ramp, where a large steel door barred their path into a room, likely where the cells were kept.

"Is it open?" Zharn questioned, knowing the answer already. A quick try of the door and shake of the head by Ahkrin confirmed his suspicions.

"Nay, and there are no weak spots either. We cannot blast the door off with a standard rifle. Thankfully, I have with my a set of plasma grenades. Stand back."

Ahkrin brought out three plasma grenades, and gently laid them by the steel door. The small explosives were extremely powerful when detonated, in spite of their size. Ahkrin moved away from the door, and hit a switch on his arm. The grenades sparked into life, and began hissing.

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"I'm calling it a night Tom, good luck guarding the deadly prisoner." The fair skinned human mocked, closing shut his book. The dark skinned one, Tom, laughed.

"Alright Pete, but tomorrow, you're staying up." Tom called as his friend Pete walked towards the metal door leading out of Detention Block A.

Those words would be the last words Pete would ever hear.

For at that moment, the heavy steel door exploded in a cloud of plasma, incinerating the human named Pete on the spot. Sorran sprung out of his bed at the commotion, and moved towards the cell door.

"What the hell?" Tom screamed, firing randomly into the cloud of plasma. Moments later, plasma fire rained back, which Sorran identified to be issued from a standard plasma rifle. The superheated bolts burned through Tom's stomach, and he fell to the floor, writhing in a pool of his own blood and stomach acid.

Two tall figures came into Sorran's view, familiar ones.  
"Ah, Sorran, I trust you've been keeping well." Zharn laughed, gripping the cell door with Ahkrin the Stealth Sangheili, ripping the heavy door from it's hinges, a feat Sorran could have never done alone, especially in his weakened state.

"You...came for me?" Sorran questioned, confused that they would so such a thing for him. Him!

"We never leave a needy brother behind." Ahkrin grunted, tossing the door away, and reaching out for Sorran's arm, hoisting him onto the floor beside him.

Sorran felt a rush of weakness, and nearly collapsed to the floor there and then. Before he did though, Zharn caught him in his hands, slinging the Sangheili Minor over his back.

"I see the humans haven't been under feeding you Sorran." Zharn commented wryly under the bulk of his weight. Sorran didn't reply, he was too tired.

"We must leave, now. The humans will no doubt of heard the explosion." Ahkrin stated, alert for danger.

"Then leave we shall. How do you propose we do this?" Zharn replied, worried.

"The back wall looks weak, perhaps we can force our way out."

Zharn grunted in confirmation, passing the limp Sorran over to his friend. He then walked to the wall, braced himself, and hurled his weight against it. Cracks were formed. After repeating the process twice, the wall finally gave, and Zharn burst through to the outside.

Alarms were now whirring across the human base, and the barks of dogs could distinctly be heard. Escaping wasn't going to be easy.


	8. Chapter 8

I kind of wish I'd included that Lord of the Rings idea a few of the reviewers suggested, but this part had already been done. However, I really like the though, and so I'll work it into the story later on. Thanks for reading, I appreciate it. Make sure to check out _Halo 3: Insurrection_ if you can.

**Part Eight - To kill a Demon**

"Ahkrin, take Sorran and flee! I will deal with these beasts, and meet you soon!" Zharn shouted over the deafening sirens. The Stealth Sangheili turned, Sorran slung over his back.

"Zharn, take my blade. You shall need it." Ahkrin replied, tossing the hilt of the holy weapon to his friend with his free hand. Zharn thought for a second about protesting, and then realised how ridiculous his argument would seem in light of the circumstances.

"Thank you, my dear friend. Now go, quickly!" Zharn cried back, igniting the burning blade. The angelic glow instantly cut through the darkness of the night, and Zharn felt that the Gods themselves were with him. Ahkrin nodded, and fled out of the compound. _Gods speed_, Zharn thought.

He didn't have much time to think though, for at that moment two dogs jumped into the clearing. Dogs. Not to be underestimated; these ones were large indeed. Zharn had read that the humans named them 'German Shepherds.' They were indeed fearsome, and the bane of any Unggoy and Kig-Yar squad. The animals had been trained not to baulk at the sight of a Sangheili, it would seem, as they pressed forward, growling. Zharn backed up, trying to placate the dogs slowly with his hands in a calming manner.

It didn't work. The dogs must have been trained to recognise an Alien when it saw one, for at that moment, the first one jumped at Zharn, taking him by surprise. It pounced on his chest, and was surprisingly heavy, knocking the Elite off balance to the ground.

The German Shepard bared it's teeth, and made a lunge for Zharn's neck. His shields may have held, but then again, he'd heard some wild stories about Sangheili being slaughtered on the rare occasion that a dog's bite managed to penetrate.

Luckily, he would not have to find out if those rumours were true, for as the dog lunged, he managed to bring his arms up, and grab the animal's powerful head. It yelped in surprise, and Zharn felt momentary pity for the creature. Still, it was a danger to him, and so closing his eyes, Zharn crunched his elbows together, smashing the dog's neck. It fell to the ground in a bloody, limp mess.

Zharn scrambled to his feet, and growled at the other dog, who instantly fled in fear. The Sangheili gasped for breath, leaning against a brick wall. His respite didn't last long though, for a moment later he heard human voices.

"Cowardly mutt, nearly knocked me over."

"Stay sharp, whatever attacked the base is probably still around here."

"Roger Lieutenant."

Zharn pressed his body against the building, staying in the shadows. His camouflage was still faulty, curse Ahkrin's jamming contraptions! He would have to rely upon traditional tactics to evade the humans. Zharn could, of course, kill them, but he was painfully aware his shields were also weakened.

The Elite Major breathed shallowly, wishing his armour was darker. Four humans then rounded the corner, gesturing around with their rifles. One indicated for them to hold and search with his right hand.

Zharn peered closely at the humans assembled, and nearly fainted there and then. Clad in green, tank like armour was the Demon, a human shotgun in hand. It really was, as the Covenant claimed, the spawn of the devil. Smaller than Zharn, but there was no hope in the Elite's mind he could best it. Could he not? Then came the chilling words of the human Lieutenant.

"Spartan, search behind that wall."

"Affirmative." replied the Demon coldly. There was no emotion in that voice.

Zharn began to hyperventilate, and felt his eyes go wide. He clutched one of his beating hearts as the so called Spartan drew closer to his hiding spot. There was no alternative; he would have to fight.

Zharn braced his powerful legs against the brick wall he cowered behind, and soon enough, heard the harsh breaths of the Demon on the other side of the wall. The Elite took a deep breath, and heaved against the seven foot tall wall with all his might. It crumbled, and collapsed. He heard a gasp of pain and surprise from the other side, and leapt over the rubble, drawing out his loaned Energy Sword.

As he leapt, he saw the Demon collapsed under the mound of brick and mortar. Thank the Gods, it wasn't moving. By the grace of the ancients, Zharn had managed to knock it unconscious.

The other, normal humans had turned around, startled, and terrified of the raging Sangheili about the descend upon them. They tried to run, firing shots of their primitive weapons behind them.  
"Crap! He's downed the Spartan!" a marine cried, terror on his face. He was the first to be speared by Zharn, the burning blade blistering the heart of the man as it plunged inside the vital organ. How impractical that humans had but one heart.

"Please! Don't kill us! I've got a family, I don't want to fight! I was drafted, please! Mercy!" another marine begged after seeing his friend killed, and dropped to his knees.

"Traitor! Fight the bastard, maggot!" the human Lieutenant growled at the man, ignoring the Sangheili before him. The Lieutenant, therefore, didn't notice Zharn draw out a needler pistol, and wasn't able to dodge before three crystalline rounds impacted. The man collapsed, all signs of life gone from his eyes. The marine on the ground was still grovelling before the Elite, who looked down thoughtfully. The man seemed to be young, even by human standards. And he had been drafted, like Sorran had been. Zharn felt a twitch in his stomach, and realised he felt sorry for the human. This was ridiculous! Still, a wise warrior did not kill without need, that was the folly of a murderer.

"Very well human, I shall let you survive. But deliver your commanders a message, and let them know that any human savage who takes a Sangheili into custody shall be killed. Tell your commander that _his_ days, are numbered." Zharn instructed, and the marine nodded gratefully. The Elite scowled, and rapped the man on the base of the neck with the back of his hand. The marine collapsed, out cold.

Mercy was no useful trait in a war such as this. But occasionally, practicality had to be done away with, to preserve honour, and self respect.

The Demon, however, needed to be killed. He was too much of a threat to live; each one could kill legions of Covenant. And so Zharn holstered the needler, and marched towards the pile of shattered brick, under which lay the Demon in his exoskeleton.

It's head was the only thing not buried under the wall, and Zharn felt a chill as he beheld the mirrored visor of the Spartan. How many of the Covenant had that golden faceplate seen fall at it's wearers hands? Too many, Zharn wagered. It would end now, with the Sangheili's sword.

Suddenly, the helmet of the Demon twitched. Did it? Was it a trick of Zharn's mind? Impossible, the Demon was motionless, there was no way it could still be concious after having a wall collapse upon it at that velocity.

Zharn grimaced, and prepared to bring the blade down upon the Spartan's head. Perhaps he would take the severed head as a trophy. Or maybe he'd just take the helmet, they weren't so putrid.

Before he could cut an arc though, a hand shot out of the rubble, and grabbed Zharn's wrist, twisting it.

"Impossible!" Zharn cried out in fear, trying to pull free of the titan grip. It was of no avail, he was held fast. The rubble shook, and parted as the Demon rose out of the rubble, the embodiment of terror.

"Now; I'm pissed off." the Demon spoke angrily, delivering a punch to Zharn's gut. The Elite doubled over in pain, and felt adrenalin rush through him. He hadn't come this far to be bested by some nefarious barbarian.

"The same can be said for me Demon." Zharn gasped, and then he charged the Spartan head on, throwing his weight against that of his foe. The Demon seemed surprise, and didn't raise his hands to defend in time. It fell to the ground under Zharn, and gave out a cry of pain as it hit the concrete floor.

The Sangheili Major punched the Spartan's visor, and felt it crack. The human elite didn't have energy shields at least. Zharn rained blows upon the Demon, and then drew a plasma grenade from his belt. He activated it, and wedged it firmly between the crack in the Spartan's visor. It exclaimed a human swear word in shock, and, managing to throw Zharn off, detached it's helmet, tossing it away. The grenade exploded, and it was in such close proximity to the Demon that it sent him flying to the ground again.

Without his helmet, the Demon seemed a lot less demonic. It was certainly still imposing, with steely grey eyes, and a cold, hard face, but not as intimidating as the figure before. He had short, black hair, no visible beard, and scars hashed across his face. The skin of the Demon was as pale as the snow at their feet.

"Those helmets cost a lot of money Elite, that was inconsiderate of you." the Spartan exhaled out, rising to it's knees and throwing a punch towards Zharn, who jumped away. The momentum of the punch caused the human to fall to the ground again, face first. The Elite laughed, he was actually _winning_ the fight.

His elation lasted for but a short time though, for suddenly, he heard the rumble of human vehicles in the distance, along with the shouts of men. They were drawing closer to his position. The Spartan smiled from the floor.

"You may have bested me, but you'll die before the hour is up." spoke the Demon, and Zharn knew he was right. In anger, he hoisted the Spartan up with effort, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt he wore beneath his armour. Zharn walked towards the cliff edge, peering down into the icy waters some hundred feet below.

"Perhaps, but by the Covenant Demon, you shall die now. Pray to your heathen Gods." Zharn growled, and then he tossed the Spartan into the air. Everything seemed to go slowly, the Demon's eyes widened in shock, and he made a desperate grope for Zharn. The human missed, and slowly tumbled down to the waters below, his screams of frustration penetrating Zharn's ears. There was a splash below, and the Demon sunk under the waters, swept away by the raging current.

Zharn stared at his hands in shock, shaking. He had just killed a Demon. An actual, living Demon. Never before had a single Elite accomplished such a feat. This was certain to earn him favour in the Council. The Elite grasped the fractured helmet of the Spartan, which lay on the floor near him, plasma still crackling across it's surface.

Of course, there would be no favour to be gained if he died. The human forces were drawing nearer, and they would no doubt shoot Zharn on sight. He couldn't see any viable escape plan.

It turned out he wouldn't need one, for at that moment, a familiar noise sailed over the nearby mountain, and descended down to the base. A Phantom! It rained plasma down upon the human forces approaching, and they scattered in fear.

The Phantom held fast near Zharn's position, and a gravity beam was lowered. A figure poked it's head out from the circular entrance.

"Hurry Elite, it will not be long before the humans rally their Wolverines to destroy this vessel." The Brute urged, and Zharn hesitated for a moment. Brutes? Still, any Covenant was better than no Covenant, and so Zharn ran to the beam, and floated upwards into the Phantom's bay. He felt the mangy paw of the Brute support him, and pulled away in disgust. Curs.

Zharn then noticed two other figures in the Phantom, Sangheili. Ahkrin and Sorran! Although the latter seemed to be asleep. He moved towards them, and greeted Ahkrin with a warm embrace.

"My thanks for coming back for me brother," Zharn spoke gratefully, and felt the Phantom begin to move into the distance. Zharn then lowered his voice, "but...Brutes?"

"They were the only local forces in the area Zharn, and at least they rescued you. Do not be so quick to judge. It is good to see you again." Ahkrin replied.

"Is Sorran still I slumber?" Zharn asked in puzzlement, surely the Sangheili Minor would have awoken by now. The Major saw Ahkrin grimace.

"Would it that he was. I believe he has been poisoned brother, by the bastard humans. Even as we speak, we are headed towards _Immortal Repentance_, but a short slip space jump away." the Stealth Sangheili explained, and Zharn nodded. Now that he looked closely, he could see the flecks of spittle and pale skin of Sorran. Undoubtedly poison.

"May the ancients watch over him." Zharn prayed, and Ahkrin nodded. Then the Stealth Sangheili noticed what Zharn held in his hand.

"Is that the helmet of the Demon brother? Pray tell how you did come across it." Ahkrin questioned, and a spark of pride entered Zharn's eye.

"I killed the Demon Ahkrin, threw it off a cliff into the icy currents below. He shall trouble us no further." Zharn boasted, holding the Spartan helmet up for Ahkrin to inspect closely.

"That is indeed an astounding feat my friend. You must tell the Council of this, no doubt they shall bestow the highest honour of honours upon your person." Zharn's friend exclaimed, impressed. Zharn was about to reply, when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. The Elite Major turned to see a Brute Chieftain, garbed in the ceremonial power armour of the Brutes.

"I wager you are hungry, Sangheili. Perchance you would partake of our food to ease the aching in your belly?" the Chieftain questioned, and Zharn nodded gratefully.

"That I would. Thanks unto you...Brute." he said, and the Chieftain grunted, barking an order to his inferior, who made to hastily gather food. Perhaps the Jiralhanae were not so bad after all. Perhaps.

"Come Zharn, let us eat together, and pray for Sorran's safe recovery." Ahkrin intoned, and Zharn nodded distantly.

It was nice to be safe once again, for however long that may last.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part Nine - Immortal Repentance**

_Immortal Repentance Infirmary_

"My my my, this is indeed a potent poison." spoke the minor Prophet of Convalescence, as he shuffled towards the table upon which Sorran lay. Zharn nodded grimly.

"Can it be purged holy one?" Zharn questioned of the Prophet, who's wise brow furrowed. Convalescence was old, even by the standards of the San 'Shyuum, but a lifetime of hurrying around on the battlefield as a medic of the Covenant had kept his body strong. Zharn admired the surgeon's independence, most Prophets used Gravity belts, or chairs at such an age. This one still used his own feet.

"Of course it can, it is but a basic human substance, I think the humans call it 'Botulinum'. I was merely commenting upon the fact that the poison was powerful. Help me take off young Sorran's armour Major." Convalescence instructed, and Zharn gingerly assisted the Prophet in stripping Sorran of his cumbersome attire. The poisoned Elite Minor soon lay naked upon the surface of the table.

"Do you wish that I should fetch a blanket, so as to cover up Sorran holy one?" Zharn questioned of Convalescence, who shook his head in protest.

"No Major, I need to see his full body in order to see which areas have been affected most." the Prophet chastised.

"But, what of the dishonour noble one?" Zharn refuted.

"There is no dishonour in being healed Zharn. I often find myself wishing that the Sangheili would do away with their sense of honour, it makes my task only harder."

Zharn flushed at the elderly Prophet's rebuke, knowing him to be right.

"Of course holy one. Even as you say. Do you require my assistance further, or may I part?"

"You may leave Zharn, I shall send a runner once Sorran has awoken. May the ancients guide you." the Prophet nodded, turning away from the Elite Major.

"And lead us all upon the path." Zharn completed the ritual, marching out through the sliding doors of the infirmary. Ahkrin awaited on the other side, alert.

"Well?" the Stealth Sangheili questioned of Zharn, who's shoulders rose.

"Convalescence told me to come back later. The poison is not critical, Sorran will live."

"'tis indeed good news, in these troubling times. Come, a Kig-Yar messenger came to me but a moment ago. The Zealot requests our presence." Ahkrin replied solemnly, and Zharn's head rose, curious.

"The Zealot? Truly? Why bother himself with ones such as us?"

"Perhaps he has heard about your triumph over the Demon." Ahkrin mused doubtfully.

"Have you told any of the encounter?" Zharn questioned, suspicious.

"Well, nay, but perhaps one of the Brutes upon the Phantom overheard us."

There was a pause, as Zharn thought about the situation.

"Perhaps. We shall soon discover the truth ourselves, let us go Ahkrin. Where is the Zealot?"

Ahkrin shrugged, puzzled.  
"I'm not entirely sure brother; I presume he would be in the officer's living quarters." replied the Stealth Sangheili, and Zharn sighed exasperatingly.

"Not entirely sure? Ahkrin, the _Immortal Repentance_ is colossal. We could spend all week searching for the honoured Zealot." the Major cried out.

"I'm sure we can find one of the Honour Guard to lead us to him Zharn, worry not. Let us move, Sorran isn't going anywhere."

"By your word, Ahkrin."

Eventually, an hour later, the two Sangheili stumbled into the Zealot's quarters, tired. Zharn had been right, it had taken a long time to find the ship master of the _Immortal Repentance._ They found the Zealot to be standing by an observation window, deep in thought. Zharn looked at Ahkrin nervously, wondering if they should announce themselves. There was no need.

"Major Zharn, Operative Ahkrin. It's good to see you." the Zealot spoke , turning around. Zharn nodded uneasily; he'd never met the Sangheili before in his life.

"You beckoned us great one?" Ahkrin asked in a timid tone of voice he usually reserved for the Prophets themselves.

"I did. I heard about what happened at the outpost. I'm sorry for your losses, would it that I could have sent reinforcements in time." the Zealot apologised, and Zharn nodded sadly, narrowing his eyes to slits at the same time. The high ranking Sangheili hadn't called them merely to convey condolences.

"Thank you, noble one." Zharn replied suspiciously.

"But I did not call you here for that. The truth is, the Prophets have commanded this ship to stage an attack upon a human city on 'Eridanus II'. It is a small one, yet it produces many weapons and vehicles the humans need. I would lead the attack myself, but I don't trust anyone to command the _Repentance_ in my absence, and my Sub Commander is getting a little too defiant. I need to keep an eye upon him." the Zealot told both Zharn and Ahkrin, who nodded.

"Of course noble one. But, if I may be so impertinent as to ask, what does this have to do with us?" Ahkrin questioned boldly.

"Everything. I heard about how you invaded a human base on your own, to save a fellow warrior. Zharn, I wish you to command the attack, with your friend Ahkrin under you. If the one named Sorran is recovered by then, take him along too. You leave in a week."

"But noble Zealot, I am a mere Major, not permitted to command such an operation. As a Stealth Sangheili, Ahkrin may be qualified, but I am not." Zharn protested, and the Zealot smiled, nodding.

"Which is why I put your name forward for a promotion to Ultra, and it has been approved. Congratulations are in order Zharn, Sangheili Ultra. Go down to the armoury, and you shall find that I have prepared you a set of new armour, as well as your own Energy blade."

Zharn stood there, speechless, his mouth open in shock. He couldn't utter a word, all his life he had dreamed of becoming an Ultra, like his late father. And now, his wish was fulfilled.

"You're catching flies Zharn." Ahkrin commented wryly, nudging him. Zharn snapped out of his stupor, and bowed to the Zealot.

"Thank you noble one, you have no idea what an honour this is." the now Ultra thanked, stuttering slightly. The Zealot smirked.

"Oh, I think I do. Go Zharn, collect that which is your right. And never let it be said that Thel Vadam'ee does not reward those faithful to the path."

Ahkrin and Zharn bowed in respect, and left the chamber.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Zharn asked of Ahkrin as the two walked past the Honour Guards, exiting the Zealot's rooms.

"That you finally achieved your lifelong dream?" Ahkrin guessed, smiling.

"Well, yes, but it also means that I'm of a higher rank than you now. I can command you as I will." Zharn told the Stealth Sangheili, who laughed with mirth.

"Ah, Zharn, my friend. Try that, and I'm afraid that even our bond shall not stay my blade from entering your throat."

*******************

_: 0430 Hours, September 15, 2530 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Planet Eridanus II/ Delta Base_

"The prisoner escaped?!?"

"It would seem so Ambassador Errand. The best we can tell, two other Elites infiltrated the base, and escaped with him."

"And Spartan 078?"

"MIA sir, the Super Intendant class AI has footage of him being thrown off the cliff by one of the Elites. There's no possible way he could have survived."

Errand ran a hand across his face, trying to think. What would ONI say when they heard one of their golden boys, one of Halsey's pet freaks, had been killed? It certainly wouldn't do him any favours.

Of course, he wasn't an Ambassador. Nor was his name even Errand. That was an alias he was known by throughout non military personnel. The marines and Navy knew him as Colonel Errand. James Ackerson was forever careful to keep his true identity a secret.

It wouldn't matter in the future, not if his _own_ project was approved by Section III. But for now, every single Spartan was a gold mine. Precious and finite.

"Damn it. Any idea where the Elites went?" Ackerson growled at the technician, who shook his head.

"Negative Ambassador, a Phantom picked them up, and jumped ship through slip space above atmosphere. They could be anywhere."

"I guess they won this round then." Ackerson sighed, sitting down. He hated the fact that the Covenant were more advanced than humanity.

As he reached for his cold glass of lager on the table, a speaker in the corner blared.

"Ambassador Errand sir; I've got someone here you might want to see. It's him sir, the Spartan." a women's voice called, and Ackerson's face brightened considerably. At least Vice Admiral Parangosky wouldn't have his head now.

"Show him in. Rogers, you're dismissed." Ackerson ordered, and the technician left his office, a little disappointed. As he left, a huge figure entered.

The Spartan looked rough. A huge welt covered the left hand side of his face, and one of his eyes was puffy and black. His armour was covered with dirt, grime, and general tarnish. The super soldier's mouth was bloodied and swollen. One of the Spartan's arms was bent backwards at an unnatural angle. Still, 078 somehow managed to salute at Ackerson.

"Sir, Spartan 078 reporting."

Ackerson scowled; he hated each and every one of the Spartans. Freaks, the lot of them. Still, he had an alias to keep up, and 'Errand' harboured no resent against the Spartans. So Ackerson forced himself to smile.

"Good to see you son. What happened?" Ackerson spoke.

"The Elite took me by surprise, collapsed a wall on top of me. I was weakened, and it managed to throw me off the cliff."

"That's a change, you Spartans are usually the ones with success." Ackerson commented bitterly, and 078 frowned.

"Yes sir, well, not this time. Do you know where the Elites went?"

"That's a negative Spartan."

"Well, if and when they come back, I'm going to hunt them down, and kill them...sir" the Spartan vowed.

"I doubt you'll be able to distinguish them. An Elite is an Elite." Ackerson said, bored already.

"Not so sir, I can tell the difference."

"We'll see. You'd better go patch yourself up Spartan. Head down to the med bay"

"Yes sir, Colonel Ackerson." the Spartan saluted one last time, with the hint of a mocking smile. Ackerson watched the man leave his room calmly, reclining back and taking a drink. He paused mid sip, and then froze. The Spartan had known his name! How? Impossible, no one here knew it.

Ackerson would have to follow up on this later. He settled back down, troubled. Did the Spartan also know what his real reasons for being on Eridanus II were?

**********************

_Immortal Repentance Infirmary_

Sorran looked around the room he was in. The aesthetics seemed to be of the Covenant. He sighed in relief. It was a small chamber, thick with the heavy smell of incense and medicine. Hunched in a corner was...

"Prophet." Sorran wheezed out, intending to say more, but breaking into a coughing fit. The elderly San 'Shyuum turned around, a smile upon his wizened face.

"Ah, you've awoken. Excellent. I was beginning to worry. My name is Convalescence."

Sorran nodded weakly, and attempted to rise. Convalescence shuffled towards him and pressed Sorran down gently, despite the Sangheili's resistance. Sorran knew then he must have been as frail as a Huragok youngling, to be physically bested by a Prophet. The Elite looked down, and his eyes widened.

"My clothes..." Sorran breathed, feeling the heat rise to his face. Convalescence nodded distractedly.

"Yes, we had to remove them. Fear not, I shall have my acolyte fetch you some new attire momentarily. For now, drink this liquid, it shall restore some of your strength."

The Prophet passed over a wooden mug, hand made by the look of it, and Sorran gratefully accepted it. He drank, and felt energy rush through his limbs. He gave his thanks to the Prophet, who was ordering his 'acolyte' via a communication array to bring up some clothes for him.

"Where am I?" Sorran questioned of the Prophet, who smiled once again. He was very unlike the cold, haughty San 'Shyuum Sorran was used to seeing in the Great Library of High Charity.

"Aboard the great vessel _Immortal Repentance._" Convalescence replied softly. The name sounded familiar to Sorran, and he realised that it was the name of the ship Zharn had requested reinforcements from before the outpost was attacked by the humans. They had never arrived.

"Have you seen a Major named Zharn, and a Stealth Sangheili named Ahkrin around here, holy one?" Sorran questioned of the Prophet, who nodded.

"Yes, they were here a few hours ago. They bid me to inform them once you had awoken, I shall ask an Unggoy to lead you to them soon, they sent me a runner but a short moment ago telling me they were in the armoury. And ah, here is Savara with you clothes." Convalescence noted, and Sorran turned his head towards the door. A young, pretty looking Sangheili female entered the room timidly, carrying a bundle of light garments. She looked around the room, and, noticing Sorran's nudity, flushed, turning away.

"I'm sorry great ones, I should have knocked." Savara apologised softly.

"Hmm? Ah, yes, think nothing of it my child. If anything, it is my fault, I should have given Sorran here a piece of material to cover himself with." Convalescence replied to the Sangheili aide, who nodded meekly.

"Here are your clothes noble warrior." she said, pressing the bundle upon Sorran's chest. He caught her staring, and she gasped, blushing. She turned away, hurrying out the room. The Prophet chuckled.

"I believe she was quite taken by you, young warrior. If you wish, I can introduce you properly, perhaps you can go for a meal or a stroll." the San 'Shyuum laughed, and now it was Sorran's turn to blush. He didn't, however, reply. Perhaps he would take up the Prophet's offer.

"Could I trouble you for a hand to help me rise?" Sorran asked without thinking, and the Prophet shook his head.

"Not unless you wished to have to nurse _me_ back to health Sangheili. I am not as young as I once would, and supporting your weight would no doubt tear me apart." Convalescence chided, and Sorran nodded, suddenly feeling foolish. He rose out of the makeshift bed himself, with effort, and pulled the soft, civilian clothes over his body. Strangely, he still felt naked without his armour on, which he had grown used to over the past few weeks.

"Thank you holy one, for tending to me. Is there anyway I can repay you?" Sorran asked, and the Prophet chuckled.

"Nay my son, all I ask is that you continue to do what's right for the Covenant. Now come, I shall see if I can find an Unggoy outside to lead you to your companions."


	10. Chapter 10

**Part Ten - Insertion**

"Sorran! Board the Phantom, lest I order a lance of Unggoy to throw you upon it!" Zharn shouted at the Sangheili Minor, who didn't turn his gaze away from Savara, who he was holding hands with. The Sangheili Ultra sighed, and turned to Ahkrin.

"This is truly disgusting. I should kill Convalescence for introducing them to each other." Zharn spat, and was rewarded with a mocking smile from Ahkrin.

"Methinks you are envious brother." the Stealth Sangheili replied softly, and Zharn tensed.

"I am not envious! I am an Ultra, Ahkrin; I could have any mate which took my fancy. Some Warriors, however, unlike others," at this he shot an icy glance at Sorran, "have restraint."

"Of course. I'll go fetch him." Ahkrin chuckled back, hopping off the Phantom, striding towards the love struck couple.

"Sorran! Come now, Zharn is getting testy." he barked, and the Sangheili Minor finally broke his stare with Savara.

"I must go, my love. I shall return, fear not." Sorran breathed longingly, and now it was Ahkrin's turn to feel sick. He grabbed the younger, smaller Sangheili by the scruff of his neck, and began to pull.

"Stay strong my sweet!" Savara cried after Sorran as he was dragged towards the Phantom, and thrown upon it by Ahkrin. Sorran stumbled to his feet, gazing sadly at the _Immortal Repentance_ dock.

"Pilot, close the hatch before his eyes dry up. You can blink, Sorran." Zharn commented dryly, and the door of the Phantom swung shut. Sorran nodded, snapping out of his trance, and took a seat in the troop bay, checking his weapons. The Unggoy and Kig-Yar beside him scooted nervously out of the way of this Sangheili, this Sorran who was so important he was friends with an Ultra.

"Disengage us from the cruiser pilot!" Zharn ordered the Sangheili garbed in Flight armour, who was flying the Phantom. The pilot nodded, and the Phantom released it's gravity lock, free-falling through space. The small vessel then engaged it's engines, and Sorran felt himself be moved swiftly away, down towards Eridanus II below. Ahkrin sat down next to Sorran, causing yet more Unggoy and Kig-Yar to shift anxiously. The Stealth Sangheili folded his thick arms, and leaned over to speak with Sorran.

"This will be your first major operation?" Ahkrin questioned, and Sorran nodded silently. "Don't worry, Zharn instructed me to look after you. Stick with me, and you'll be fine."

"My thanks to you brother." Sorran muttered gratefully. Zharn then came, and sat opposite the two conversing Sangheili. The Unggoy and Kig-Yar jumped up completely, and moved to the other side of the ship. Zharn chuckled.

"So. You and Savara." the Ultra stated, and Sorran squirmed.

"Yes?" he asked, and Zharn reclined back in the chair, stretching.

"You make a good couple. Are you considering her to be your mate?" Zharn replied to Sorran's question. The Sangheili Minor flushed.

"I-I haven't really thought--I mean, I shan't have much opportunity to return to her." Sorran stuttered out.

"I'm sure she'd wait for you. And whenever you went back, you could impress her with tales of your bravery and escapades." Zharn spoke back, and Sorran realised he was being serious.

"I know not if I shall survive this attack Zharn. Or any future ones. How could I commit myself to someone, knowing that one day, they may be left widowed?" Sorran explained, and Zharn nodded understandingly.

"It's your choice brother. But yes, for now we shall concentrate on surviving this battle. Have you chosen which weapons you want to use?" Zharn asked of Sorran, who nodded.

"Plasma rifle and a needler, as well as the sword at my hip. They should see me through." the Sangheili Minor replied, showing the weapons to the Ultra. Zharn nodded in approval, and then sighed.

"I must rally the troops; recite the writ with them." the Ultra spoke, standing up in the Phantom. The myriad of Covenant soldiers fell silent, all eyes on Zharn.

"When we joined the Covenant, we took an oath!" he cried.

"According to our station! All without exception!" the rest of the Covenant chanted back, including Sorran.

"On the blood of our fathers...on the blood of ours sons, we swore to uphold the Covenant!"  
"Even to our dying breath." the crowd recited back. Sorran grimaced; he hated the way the Prophets had ordered all Sangheili and other military personnel under their command to recite this before every mission.

"Those who would break this oath are Heretics... Worthy of neither pity, nor mercy! We shall not hesitate before striking the human infidels with the wrath of our Lords!" Zharn shouted.

"We shall grind them into dust! Scrape them as excrement from our boots!"

Sorran always found that part a little strange; considering the Sangheili didn't wear boots. The Prophets had obviously overlooked that fact when creating the ritual.

"And continue our march to glorious salvation!" Zharn finished, and the clamour in the Phantom began once again as the Covenant soldiers chattered amongst each other.

"Very inspiring." said Ahkrin dryly as Zharn sat down once again. The Ultra dug his friend in the side with his elbow, irritated.

"Indeed. How long now, pilot?" Zharn inquired of the Sangheili at front.

"We are nearly arrived noble one. I am slowing down the Phantom, preparing to land." the pilot called back, and Zharn nodded.

"Where are we landing? In the human city?" Sorran asked.

"In a way. More specifically, the 'slums' at the edge of the town, it is the area least protected. From there, we shall march into the city, and begin the attack." Zharn replied, loading his Carbine with plasma 'bullets'.

"We've landed. Opening hatch now. Good luck Warriors." the Pilot spoke, and the hatch unsealed, revealing grimy shacks, some of which were already burning. Some poorly dressed humans were running around, screaming, being cut down as they did so. Sorran grimaced, and prepared to leave the Phantom. Before he could however, he felt Ahkrin's hand hold him fast.

"Wait up Sorran; we go together, and stay away from the main attack force. We shall fight in the manner of the Stealth Sangheili; with grace and striking out of the shadows." Ahkrin told the Sangheili Minor, who nodded. Zharn looked down at the two, smiling.

"Try to keep each other alive. May the Gods be with you." the Ultra told them, leaving the Phantom, already barking orders. Eventually, Sorran and Ahkrin, along with the pilot, were the only three remaining in the Phantom.

"Pilot, take us high above the clouds. I and Sorran will drop into the main city via Orbital Insertion Pods." Ahkrin ordered the Sangheili commandeering the ship, who hesitated.

"Are you sure? They can be dangerous noble operative." the pilot replied uncertainly. Fear gripped Sorran. Dangerous?

"Worry not, we shall be fine. Take us up, at once. Sorran, lower yourself into a pod, quickly."

Ahkrin indicated the row of five pods embedded in the wall of the Phantom, before sliding into one himself. It looked awfully small. Still, Sorran was not one to disobey a superior, and so he himself delved into the pod, disliking the way he couldn't move.

He heard a voice emanate from inside the pod, that of Ahkrin's.

"Now Sorran, when these pods are released, they shall fall down to the ground, inside the city. The impact will probably break your shields, but you probably won't die. Just follow my lead, and be courageous." the Stealth Sangheili soothed. It wasn't very soothing. _Probably_ won't die?

Before he could reply though, the pods disengaged, and Sorran was silenced.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part Eleven - To show mercy**

The pod hit the ground, and Sorran felt pain. Inescapable pain. His shields did indeed break, and he felt like every bone in his body had too. The Sangheili minor opened his blurry eyes, and saw the pod begin to unseal. With a burst, it smashed open, and Sorran as suddenly staring into the face of a human.

He wasn't a soldier; not even one of their militia. The human was old, Sorran reasoned, white hair riddled his head, wrinkles were deep set around his eyes. The man shrieked at the sight of Sorran and tried to run away. The elderly human's legs collapsed, and he fell to the ground with a cry.

The man then resorted to dragging himself along the floor, weeping, crying out for his son to save him. There was no one else around. This human was alone. There would be no rescue for him.

Sorran unfolded his arms, and hopped out of the pod. Ahkrin's own was no where in sight. No doubt they would meet up later. But for now, it was just Sorran, and the old human in the small area.

The Elite looked around, and realised he seemed to be in a secluded area of garden. Evidently, the elderly man had thought it wise to cower in a place it was unlikely the Covenant would search. Life, evidently, was determined to prove him wrong.

Looking down at the human, Sorran raised his rifle, and felt his arm tremble as he did so. Could he really kill; nay, _murder_ this helpless human in could blood? Sorran knew what the brutal, efficient Ahkrin would do. Zharn would probably give the man a weapon, hoist him to his feet, and then kill him; thus feeling better about himself. But Sorran wasn't Ahkrin, or Zharn. He was himself.

The man had backed into a stone corner, shrunk against the wall on his behind, a look of terror on his face. The human grappled for something within his clothes, and Sorran prepared himself to strike, thinking it to be a gun.

The Sangheili was halted as he beheld what the old man now held in his hand, affixed to his neck by a silver chain. Sorran rotated his head to one side inquisitively in the manner of the Elites. The human held what seemed to be a small silver cross in his hand, and had his eyes shut, murmuring words, clasping the cross tightly. Did Sorran's eyes deceive him, or was the human _praying?_

This was a revelation to him. The Prophets had lectured that the humans were athiest infidels who cared not for any reverence to Godly beings. But here was a human, evidently praying. To the Forerunners? Unlikely, more of a chance the human had his own God. Still; they were all one and the same were they not? No matter how you went about it, or in what manner, the Forerunners were your God, so lectured the Prophets.

Was this human under the protection of some divine force? Sorran had never been a truly religious being, but to murder an elderly, religious person, even if that person was human, seemed to be wrong.

"Just kill me now; please, get it over with. Don't make it painful." the old man whispered up at Sorran, who was momentarily surprised, snapped out of his reverie. The man had a different way of speaking to the other humans Sorran had heard. The Sangheili shook his head; how could he be thinking of pity at a time like this? Even now he could hear the smoke pour in from the houses in the lower district of the city. Sorran reached down, and grabbed the elderly human with one hand, lifting him high into the air. Tears were streaming down the man's cheeks.

Sorran drew out his metallic blade, holding it with his left hand. The Adam's apple of the human was bobbing up and down nervously, with layers of wrinkled flesh covering it.

No; Sorran could not do this. It was wrong. They were fighting a war, not committing genocide. Weren't they? Some would disagree. They were effectively hunting humanity to extinction. And for what reason? In all their time of warring with the humans, the Covenant had come across but a few Forerunner artefacts, all of them untainted by the humans. And yet the High Prophet of Truth claimed otherwise; that the humans were defiling the relics. That didn't seem to be the case. Was there another, darker motive behind this war?

Sorran, lost in thought, dropped the human to the ground, not looking down. _I shall ponder upon this later,_ the Elite decided, turning to face the old man.

"You will not die today; not by my hand. Run human, hide. And do not let my fellows come across you; they shall not be as merciful as I." Sorran told the human, who's eyes grew wide with gratitude. The elderly man tried to move off the ground, and cried out in pain as he did. Sorran looked down incredulously.

"Is there a problem?" the Sangheili whispered, frowning. The old man began to weep once again, no doubt thinking Sorran would consider it easier to merely kill him than bother himself further. He did consider it easier. But he wouldn't do it. Instead, he bent down, and spoke in a soothing voice. "Come now, I have given my word I shall not harm you. What is the problem?"

If one of the council had seen this, Sorran would be in chains. No Covenant soldier was supposed to do this; it was unprecedented, forbidden. Still, he couldn't help it. He was no killer; he was a scholar. His goal was to preserve and understand, not destroy.

"My back...I can't move." the human gasped, face screwed up in pain. Sorran sighed, and hefted the man up again, intending to find him a hiding place himself.

Before he could though, a voice cried out from behind him. A human voice.

"Get your filthy claws off my father you bastard!" the voice cried, that of a male's. Before Sorran could turn around, he felt a bulk smash into him, and dropped the old man in shock, flown forwards by the son's weight.

Sorran was thrown against the wall, and grimaced in pain. He then felt his body explode as a sharp object entered the base of his spine. He felt his back warm as blood leaked out, and managed to throw the human off in his pain drunk state. Sorran reached around his to his back, and grasped the hilt of a human knife, yanking it out. His shields had not yet recovered from the drop; the recharging mechanism was in all probability damaged,

He saw the son of the old man rise off the ground, and Sorran noted he was a marine. The Sangheili would have to be all the more careful then, his shields were down, and this human evidently knew his business.

"Miguel, stop!" the elderly human still lying on the ground cried out weakly, but his son didn't heed his father's warning. Instead, the one named Miguel drew out a pistol, and aimed it at Sorran. Before he could fire, the Elite managed to toss the knife at the attacking human. Miguel's eyes grew wide, and he looked down in horror at the hilt buried deep in his lone heart. His mouth opened twice in a wordless scream, before his eyes glazed over and he collapsed in a river of dark red blood.

"No! You fool Miguel!" the still living elderly man cried out, a rush of adrenalin propelling him off his feet towards his dead son. The old human knelt down in the pool of crimson liquid, cradling Miguel's limp head in his arms, hugging the marine dearly. "Mi hijo, mi querido, mi querido hijo..."

Sorran realised it as 'Spanish' for 'my son, my dear, dear son.' Evidently, the old man and his son were of a Spanish descent. The Sangheili squirmed, guilty. Guilty! He knew he shouldn't feel that way, but he did. Sorran averted his gaze towards the floor.

"I'm sorry." was all he said, in shame. The old man looked up, but where Sorran had expected to see anger, he saw but forgiveness.

"You killed my son. But it wasn't your fault. He would have killed you, you had no choice...I understand. Even as the Lord does, I forgive you, strange Elite. Now go, leave me with my dead son. No doubt I will join him soon."

Sorran frowned against his better judgement.

"There is still time to hide old man. I would not have you killed, I owe that much to you for killing your son." the Sangheili protested, and the old man shook his head firmly.

"No, I will remain here."

Sorran shook his head, and took a step towards the elderly human. This felt all wrong, yet at the same time, just.

"Nay, you shall not." Sorran breathed, placing two fingers upon the man's shoulder and squeezing. The human instantly collapsed, out cold. Sorran lifted the man out of the pool of blood, and, searching around, managed to find a set of doors embedded in the ground. He ripped one off, and lowered the old human down the stairs, setting him to rest inside. Sorran then shut the hatch from the outside, leaving the unconscious human below. He then dipped his finger in Miguel's blood, and traced the shape of a Y on the two doors, which would indicate to other forces of the Covenant that the house had already been searched.

The old man was safe. Until the glassing started. There was nothing Sorran would be able to do to stop that though. He had done his best.

Why? The answer to that question still eluded him, alas. But Sorran knew he had done good that day. He looked sadly at the body of Miguel, and noticed that he too, like his father, wore a cross around his neck. Sorran reached down, and grabbed the chain, ripping it from it's dead wearer. He held the cross up in the light, admiring it's fine craftsmanship. Tiny human letters were grooved in the man body of the cross. Even from the distance he was holding the religious item, Sorran could make out the words.

_'CHRIST IS FOREVER WITH YOU.'_

What did those words mean? Obviously something important to the man and his son. Who was Christ? Some sort of Demon? Sorran decided it best to leave the body of Miguel, if Christ really was a Demon who was with him. Still, the Elite kept the cross, and it's chain, draping it around his neck and tucking it under his armour. He did not know why.

The Sangheili hurried out of the alley, aware of a dull throbbing at his back. The knife wound had indeed been painful. Fire was rising from the city, and smoke was clogging the streets.

Up ahead, Sorran could make out the faint shape of a fellow Sangheili. One wearing black armour. It was hard to tell who it was through the thick smog.

Sorran moved closer to Ahkrin, who turned around with an expression of surprise, noticing the Sangheili minor.

"Is that you Sorran? Good, good. This smoke is heavy, what is Zharn's attack force doing? They should be keeping the smoke away from the city, all it is doing is hampering us and them." Ahkrin told Sorran, covering his maw with a thick hand. Sorran did likewise. Ahkrin then noticed blood dripping from Sorran's back.

"You're hurt Sorran! What happened?" the Stealth Sangheili questioned worriedly. Sorran began to feel a little dizzy.

"One of their marines, back in an alleyway. Attacked me with a knife. My shields aren't recharging." Sorran explained, coughing as he inhaled some smoke. Ahkrin grimaced, and pointed towards a building at the end of the street.

"Come, let us get out of this foul air and somewhere where I can heal you." Ahkrin instructed Sorran, who nodded, following his friend. Screams could be heard all around them, especially in the lower districts, and the stench of blood was thick in the air. Sorran felt sick.

War was not as glorious as the Elders made it out to be.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part Twelve - Heresy, of the greatest kind**

Ahkrin lifted Sorran onto the wooden table within the human house, and Sorran lay, gasping. Ahkrin turned Sorran onto his back, and removed the Commando harness he wore. The Sangheili minor grimaced as he turned his head and saw the bloody welt running down his back.

"Are you sure it was a knife he attacked you with, or was it a broad sword?" Ahkrin muttered dryly, going to a nearby sink and dampening a rag with` water. The moment the sodden cloth touched Sorran's wound, he cried out in pain, the stinging nearly unbearable.

"Do you not have anything more...advanced to treat me with? Other than a rag and water." Sorran questioned through his teeth as the Stealth Sangheili washed the cloth out of purple blood and applied the rag again, cleaning the wound.

"Well, there is this biofoam canister I looted off the body of a human. It should hold you together." Ahkrin replied, holding up a grey cylinder with a metal nozzle on the end. Sorran eyed it doubtfully.

"If you say so Ahkrin."

Once the wound was clean, Ahkrin then ejected the healing foam into Sorran's wound. Forget about the water on the rag, _this_ was a hundred times more painful. He could feel the disgusting foam pour into every bleeding wound of his body, sealing it up. Sorran did admit that once it had all been finished, he did feel a lot better. Ahkrin then scraped-d the excess foam from his back, and reattached Sorran's Commando harness.

"That should hold you together for now brother. If you feel any urges to be cut in half once again, warn me beforehand." Ahkrin stated wryly, and Sorran swung a punch at the Stealth Sangheili, who evaded the playful blow with a laugh. Sorran lifted himself off the table, bouncing on the balls of his heels. He took a look around the human house.

"Do you think this house is deserted?" Sorran breathed quietly, suddenly suspicious a human was lurking behind a door with a shotgun.

"In all probability, yea. However, it shan't hurt to look around. Lead on, mighty warrior." Ahkrin implored, and Sorran, ignoring the last mocking comment, proceeded through the human abode, wary for signs of danger.

The two Sangheili stole through the house, cautious. Suddenly, there was a loud bang at the front door, and both Sorran and Ahkrin whirled around, rifles ready. The door crashed in, and a Brute was standing in the doorway, evidently surprised. He was on his lonesome, a spiker rifle in hand, garbed in Brute power armour.

"Noble Sangheili..." the Brute said suspiciously, looking around the room. Ahkrin narrowed his eyes.

"Jiralhanae. What are you doing here?" the Stealth Sangheili demanded, hand still brushing his rifle. The Brute seemed to squirm.

"The Chieftain...ordered me to kill any humans who may be hiding. He was under the impression that the Sangheili were at the front gates." the Brute told the two Elites, who nodded.

"Not all of us." Sorran spoke up, surprising himself. "We dropped in from a Phantom. You are welcome to join us Brute." The Brute seemed happy with that.

There was then a sudden sharp pain in Sorran's side, and he jumped. Ahkrin was looking at him angrily, as if to say '_I don't want a Brute with us.'_ Sorran shook his head, and turned to the Brute, who was eyeing Ahkrin with hurt.

"We're searching this home for any marines who may be cowering. Assist us." Sorran ordered, and the Brute nodded slowly, his eyes still on Ahkrin.

"My name is Hestaphus. I am honoured to be in your presence...Sangheili." the Brute told them, and Ahkrin nodded.

"Just look around, and try to refrain from going berserk."

The unlikely trio then began to search.

The downstairs seemed to be clear, and so Sorran preceded upstairs, Ahkrin and Hestaphus closely behind him.

"I shall search the rooms on the right side. Sorran, Hestaphus, search the left side. Be wary Sorran." Ahkrin told the two, adding the last ambiguous sentence as if on a whim. Sorran wondered what he meant, be wary of the possible humans, or the Brute? Maybe both.

The Sangheili Minor cracked open a door to a bedroom, Hestaphus behind and heard a rustling from behind one of the curtains. Sorran crept towards it, rifle in hand, and pulled them back, ready to fire.

A gleaming kitchen knife struck out, and punctured Sorran in the leg. He just had all the bad luck today...he looked at the assailant, intending to fire, and stopped, eyes widening.

A child of what could only be seven was staring at him with wide eyes, lips quavering. His hands were warm and sticky with Sorran's blood. The Sangheili minor fell back, unsure of what to do. The Brute came up behind him, huffing in his blue power armour.

"A human child? Interesting. You should kill it, Sangheili." Hestaphus advised, and Sorran frowned, taken aback. Kill a _child?_ It was the same situation he'd had with the old man earlier. He couldn't do it.

"Kill a child? It has done nothing wrong, Brute." Sorran protested, aware that the young boy was frozen in place, his eyes round and fearful. Sorran felt a strange, almost paternal urge to reassure him.

"Except stab you in the leg." Hestaphus commented dryly, his canines protruding from his mouth. The boy shrieked loudly, pressing back further against the window.

"I would have done the same in it's position. Nay, I cannot call a child Brute, it is wrong. The Forerunners forbid the killing of the innocent." Sorran stated crossly.

"Look at it Sangheili...Sorran. It looks harmless enough now, but it will grow, and become another marine, with one of their guns. Kill them young, before they are old enough to fight back!" the Brute insisted, his voice turning aggressive. Sorran flexed his muscles instinctively.

"We are leaving Hestaphus." Sorran stated, glaring at the Brute. The Jiralhanae growled, and then without warning, seized the child by it's neck, and the Brute took out his spiker rifle, holding up it's blade in anticipation.

Without realising it, Sorran drew out his own metallic blade, and leered at the Brute, who still held the young boy's neck.

"Jiralhanae; release the child. Now." Sorran commanded in a stern voice, holding his sword up threateningly. The Brute laughed, and turned away from the Sangheili, his spiker blade gleaming in the light of the fire outside. The child cried out, looking helplessly at Sorran.

"No!" Sorran cried out, lunging forward with his blade. Before he knew what he was doing, the sword plunged into the Brute's body, sinking in slowly. Hestaphus turned towards Sorran in rage, his bloodshot eyes widening. With his last breath, the Brute brought the spiker rifle down on the human child's head, before Sorran could stop him. Both bodies collapsed to the floor, dead.

_By the Forerunners, what have I done?_ Sorran screamed in his mind, looking at the dead Brute corpse. Sorran looked out the window with dread, and sure enough, saw five Jackals outside, watching with their large, buggy eyes. They'd seen it all. Seen the Sangheili murder the Jiralhanae over the life of a _human._

Sorran suddenly couldn't breathe. He collapsed against the window frame, the Brute's red blood still on his hands.

"Sorran...what have you done?" a familiar voice asked softly from behind him. Sorran turned, with red eyes, to see Ahkrin standing in the doorway, arms folded, looking at the scene before him.

"Ahkrin, I--" Sorran couldn't finish the sentence. Instead, the Sangheili collapsed to his knees, weeping. Killing another of the Covenant in cold blood, over the life of a human. That meant certain death for him. Ahkrin walked over, and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

"Worry not, nothing shall happen to you Sorran. I, and Zharn shall do our best to make sure of it."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part Thirteen - Trial and punishment**

_Holy city of High Charity, Council Chambers, 9th Age of Reclamation._

"Sorran Mahaf'ee, you stand as the accused. Do you understand why you are here?" the Prophet taking precedence over the trial spoke, and Sorran's mouth dried. This was it; he was on trial. Sorran remembered visiting such an event involving a Kig-Yar who had spilt the blood of an Elite a few years ago. It had not bode well for the defendant.

To make matters worse, the Prophet monitoring the hearing was none other than the High Prophet of Truth. _Truth!_ He had been a ruthless conciliator before he had ascended to the seat of power, and even now still enjoyed dallying in the occasional trial. Finally, Sorran found his voice.

"I understand, noble Prophet." the disgraced Sangheili Minor murmured, bowing his head. The councillors started talking amongst themselves. Brutes hung in the dark recesses of the chamber; looking bloodthirsty.

"And do you plead guilty or not, to the accusation that but three days ago, upon the human planet of Eridanus II, you slew a Jiralhanae in cold blood to protect the life of a _human_?" Truth demanded, a sly smile on his face. Sorran frowned.

"A human _child_--" he began to protest, before being interrupted by the High Prophet.

"Be silent!" Truth shrieked, anger displaying across his face. "Do you confess to the crime?"

There was a pause, as Sorran lifted his head up and stared Truth in the eyes.

"I do."

The hall burst into a wave of commotion, the Sangheili Councillors on one side, and the Prophet Councillors on the other. Sorran stared at the two groups appealingly, but could not read their emotions. They were, after all, politicians.

"And you confess to the crime knowing that the ultimate punishment, should the council so decide it, is death?" Truth whispered, leaning forward in his chair, bony fingertips tapping against each other. _He is truly enjoying my suffering!_ Sorran realised, suddenly feeling a surge of anger towards this Prophet who would be so quick as to condemn him. At the back of the hall, a voice cried out angrily; that of a Brute's.

"This should not be a decision of the council! This Sangheili spilled Jiralhanae blood! I demand his death!" the Brute cried out, striding forward to wear Sorran stood. Five Honour Guard moved before him before the raging Jiralhanae could do so however. This heartened Sorran, to know that the Sangheili at least placed the value of his life over that of a mongrel Brute's. Sorran then stared at the Jiralhanae. He was tall, with grey hair, and a large wave of white hair upon his head. Upon his back was strapped a stone hammer as tall as Sorran. The Brute looked as if he were about to disembowel Sorran at a moments notice.

"Tartarus; you know the Jiralhanae are not permitted to approach the inner circle of the council chamber." Truth chastised, but with no real anger in his voice. Indeed, Sorran may have been imagining things, but he could have sworn he saw the Prophet give a secretive nod to the Brute. "As it is, you may remain; such is the uniqueness of the situation."

_So this was the Chieftain of the Brutes._ Sorran thought, looking with speculation at Tartarus as he nodded, and took a seat next to a Sangheili Councillor, who looked appalled.

"Do you have anything to say in your defence, Sangheili?" Truth asked of Sorran, who was taken aback slightly. He hesitated before nodding.

"I do. I and the Stealth Operative Ahkrin were searching a human residency when we heard a crash at the door. Together, we raised our rifles in anticipation of a squad of humans, only to find it was a Brute named Hestaphus, who claimed to have been ordered by a the Chieftain of the Brutes to scour the nearby houses." at this Tartarus' expression showed surprise, as if he didn't remember giving such a command. The Council noticed it, and he quickly masked it with one of faked understanding.

"I remember giving such an order." the Chieftain of the Brutes called out, and Sorran glared at him. Liar! Still, Sorran had no way of proving otherwise, so he continued with his recount of the events.

"As it was, I invited the Brute to join us. After finding nothing of import in the downstairs area, we preceded upstairs. I and the Jiralhanae Hestaphus searched what I can assume to have been a bedroom, and I noticed a stirring behind a curtain. Wary, I approached said curtain, and drew it back, only to have a knife embed itself in my leg. The only factor which stayed my wrath was that I saw the assailant was but a small child. My honour would not allow me to kill such a helpless creature, and I ordered the Brute, as is my right as Sangheili, to leave the child alone."

Sorran took a deep breath, looking at Truth, who motioned him to go on wearily.

"However, Hestaphus seemed unable to comply with this order, and seized the child by the neck, despite my commands to leave him. From thereon, the Brute was guilty of committing insubordination, an act which, under sector nine of the Writ, is an execution-able offence. I merely carried out the law our forefathers imposed."

It was a nice, persuasive speech, which Zharn and Ahkrin had run by him many times as he had been taken to High Charity aboard a Phantom. Hopefully, it would hold. The clamour in the hall began once again, this time seemingly incessant. Truth grew wary and banged a mallet upon the podium he sat before.

"There will be order in this council!" the High Prophet cried angrily, and the crowd instantly fell silent, all eyes once again on Sorran.

"You are not the Arbiter, Sangheili. You have no right to decide who lives, and who dies in your forces. The matter should have been reported to one of a higher echelon, rather than take matters into your own--" Truth began to speak, and Sorran found to his horror that he couldn't help but interrupt.

"Had I opted to do so, the child would have already been dead, rendering my attempts at mercy moot." Sorran cut in, and Truth's eyes flashed dangerously.

"And what of it? The child was but a human, and Hestaphus was right to judge that it should be killed." Truth demanded, and for the first time Sorran felt himself falter. If the High Prophet of Truth himself deemed that the child should have been killed, surely the council would be likewise influenced.

Sorran looked around the hall once again. The councillor's faces were blank, as always. At the back of the hall, Sorran could make out the grim faces of Zharn and Ahkrin. Ahkrin had his hand upon the Ultra's shoulder consolingly. That hit Sorran hard; even his closest friends believed him doomed.

"Noble Prophet, it was a grave mistake, one I shall not emulate again, of this I assure--" Sorran began, before being shushed by a hand of Truth.

"Indeed, you _shall_ not emulate it again. Whether through being pardoned and learning a lesson, or death; I do not know. However, know this: the Brutes are pressing hard on this trial. They would consider a pardon a personal offence. I advise the council to keep that in mind as they cast their votes." Truth spoke, and Sorran spluttered in shock. The High Prophet was influencing the decision of the council! Surely there was a law against that?

"We shall hold a brief respite whilst the council debilitate upon whether or not to have you executed. Enjoy these last moments of freedom Sangheili minor, they could well be your last. As always, I implore the council not the reveal their option to others." Truth told the assembled jury, who nodded. As one, a series of computer terminals appeared in front of each and every Councillor. Sorran could only assume that each had two options upon them; one to condemn Sorran, and one to have him spared.

Time trickled away as many councillors took their time, for the first time displaying emotion. Some looked down at Sorran with hate; others with compassion. Some seemed to be indifferent. Eventually, the last of the council had made their choice, and the terminals sunk back into the floor.

"Has the council made their choice, free of all and any pressure, with their free will?" Truth questioned, bringing up his own terminal. The council looked amongst each other uncertainly, before nodding. "I now have the results for this trial."

Sorran held his breath as Truth studied the screen before him. Sorran could not see what displayed upon it's holographic surface. To Sorran's surprise, Truth's eyebrows rose, before his expression settled into one of frustration. Just as quickly as it appeared however, it was vanished, replaced with a smug, almost sly smile. Truth cleared his throat.

"Sorran Mahaf'ee; the council of High Charity has decreed that you be put to death by separation of the head. Guards, take the Heretic to the dungeons, where he shall await his final hour." Truth declared, and the world turned to ice. Sorran couldn't breathe, his two hearts beating rapidly. Many of the councillors were looking slightly confused at the result. Two of the Honour Guard next to Sorran grimaced, and grabbed the condemned Sangheili by the wrists. Sorran shook them off.

"I can walk by myself." he said, marching away from the council, and Truth, with his smug face. How Sorran longed to end that bastard's life; he was no leader, he was a monster. The Honour Guards shrugged, and followed after Sorran, keeping their weapons raised in the event the newly branded Heretic attempted to escape.

"We're sorry for your plight...Sorran." one of the two Honour Guards told the Sangheili Minor, who scowled, saying nothing. Sorran turned to look at the council one last time, saw Tartarus sneering, wearing a look of satisfaction, and saw Zharn and Ahkrin staring with horror down at him.

Savara, his dear love, didn't even know of this trial, it had happened so fast. It was of no matter, he would be dead soon enough. Sorran but hoped that Zharn or Ahkrin would inform her of his fate.

Sorran wasn't ready to die; but it seemed he had no choice.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 14 - Factions within factions...**

_Two hours later._

Zharn eyed the serving Unggoy in the restaurant with a look of distaste. He eyed everyone with a look of distaste. Ahkrin shared his distemper, not even bothering to crack an Unggoy waiter joke, as was his usual ritual.

"I failed him." Zharn spoke with an echoing sadness, gazing into the wall on the other side of the room. "He was my friend; my student, per se, and I failed him."

"No. Zharn my friend, it was not your fault. Don't ever think that." Ahkrin assured. "What happened to Sorran was mere bad luck."

Zharn shook his head, still not facing Ahkrin.

"I feel like I should be doing something. Perhaps I should appeal to the Prophet of Truth on his behalf." the Ultra mused, and Ahkrin barked sharply.

"Ha! You would soon join Sorran on death row Zharn, and you know it. We've done all that we can. We shall meet Sorran again, as we all embark on the Great Journey." Ahkrin informed Zharn wisely, his voice grave. Zharn sighed, and shook his head.

"Even as the Writ says, "The weight of heresy shall stay one's feet." There will be no journey for Sorran." the Ultra cracked, cupping his head in his hand with no small sorrow. Ahkrin grimaced; was there nothing he could do to set his friend's mind at rest?

"I don't believe that. Sorran is no heretic. You know that to be true Zharn." the Stealth Sangheili assured the Ultra, who nodded slowly.

"Yes. . .yes, you are right, of course. What must we do now? I have no wish to view Sorran's execution; I just want to forget about all of this." Zharn told Ahkrin. There was a pause.

"As do I brother. We shall leave High Charity by dawn I think, Sorran would not want us to see him disgraced as he will be. Both you and I should meet back up with the _Immortal Repentance_, inform those he acquainted himself with there of his fate. Then we shall head back down, and continue our campaign against the humans." Ahkrin suggested, and Zharn smiled sadly, before replying in turn.

"I think not even a thousand human deaths shall ease the pain you and I felt today, my brother. But yea, even as you say, we should do just that. Now come, let us order some food. I finally feel as if I won't spew it back up."

- - - - - - - - - - -

He was cold, afraid, and lonely. And these were but a few of the many troubles ailing Sorran as he hung nude in an ancient stone cell, deep within the dungeons of High Charity. Energy manacles suspended him in the air, preventing him from finding needed sleep. Not that he wanted to sleep. Every moment spent in the cell brought him a moment closer to his death. Sleep would but accelerate the punishment.

Warm liquid fell down Sorran's cheeks. His first thought was that it was blood. As the liquid dripped to the floor below, and splashed against the stone floor, he realised it was in fact a salty drop of tears. Not blood at all, although the way Sorran had immediately jumped to the conclusion that it had been showed just how much he had begun to think like a warrior over the past...he didn't even know how long it had been.

If only he had kept his position as Scholar in the Great Library, none of this would be happening right now. Sorran laughed bitterly, knowing that this shouldn't have happened even though he was now a warrior. No, this was Truth's fault.

_Truth._ The very thought of the Prophet sent revulsion down Sorran's aching spine. To think, he had once looked up to the Hierarch as a role model for life. Now he knew the reality; Truth was a monster.

He took a look at the cell he was in. It was archaic, designed by the Sangheili shortly after the Great War they waged against the Prophets. The design was similar to those used upon Sangheilios; a thick set door, leading down to a stone, spiralling staircase with torches lighting the way. At the bottom was a simple circle, surrounded with stone walls. In the middle of this circle stood two pillars, each the same distance from one another. It was between these pillars that Sorran hung now, head held low.

As Sorran was about to start a new wave of weeping, there was a bang at the top of the spiralling staircase above, most likely emitting from the door. Fear clenched Sorran's two hearts in a titan like grip; was he to be killed _already?_ Voices suddenly spoke.

"This one is not to be approached, we have orders." a gruff growl stated. A Brute. The new prison wardens of High Charity.

"I beg your pardon? Move aside, vile beasts. I shall go where I please." another voice replied. Harder to distinguish, but it sounded like either an elderly Sangheili, or a Prophet. There was another shake of the door, followed by an aggressive growl from a Brute.

"The noble Prophet of Truth has commanded it that none should approach, Minister!" the Jiralhanae warden growled. Minister? Definitely a Prophet then. There was silence for a few dreadful seconds, and Sorran realised he was holding his breath. He let it out in disgust with himself.

"If you knew what I did, I think you would not consider him to be so noble. Now let me past, or I shall call my Guard and have them run you through like the worthless cur you are." the Prophet threatened, and Sorran's eyebrows rose from where he hung suspended. It was not often that one of the San 'Shyuum would be so bold. The Brute growled indecisively from what Sorran could hear, before finally grunting in defeat.

"You have five minutes."

Sorran heard the heavy door above unlatch with a sickening resolution. Who was this Prophet who would threaten a Brute so? An interrogator perhaps? One chosen to take Sorran to his death?

The door swung open, and Sorran heard the hum of a Gravity Chair chime as it descended down the stone staircase. Eventually, the chair reached the bottom, and an elderly Prophet wearing blue robes came into view, a thoughtful look upon his face. Strange, he seemed familiar...

"Do you know why you are imprisoned here?" the Prophet suddenly questioned from Sorran's left, his voice containing a hint of mocking. Sorran thought for a moment, before replying.

"I committed Heresy." the once Sangheili Minor spoke softly, hanging his head. The Prophet went behind him, as if sizing him up.

"And do you truly believe you did?" the Minister asked, and Sorran frowned ever so slightly. _Do I?_ he thought to himself, clacking his two lower mandibles together in thought. He knew the answer, but would it be wise to say it in front of the Prophet? Then again, why not? He was already on death row, what more could the Covenant do to him.

"Nay, I do not." Sorran replied, surprised to hear the anger in his voice. He heard the Prophet chuckle as if the Minister had won a small victory.

"Wonderful. Truly wonderful. And tell me, Sorran, what is your opinion of the High Prophet Truth?" Sorran gave his opinion of Truth, in a colourful and disgraceful way which would have made even the most bashful of people flush in disbelief. As it was though, the Prophet facing Sorran merely smiled. It wasn't a cold, sly smile like Truth had worn; rather a warm, secretive one.

"Indeed Sorran, indeed." the Minister stated ambiguously, still looking at the imprisoned Sangheili speculatively. Sorran began to get annoyed.

"Do you have something of import to convey to me Minister or are you but wasting the precious time I have left?" the Sangheili Heretic snapped, but this seemed to please the Prophet even more.

"Tell me Sorran; how would you wish to live again?" the Prophet asked, and Sorran's eyes snapped open. He turned to look at the Minister, who had a look of genuine curiosity upon his features.

"I would wish nothing more, noble one." Sorran blurted out. The Minister nodded, drawing a scroll out from his person.

"I have here with me a pardon from the High Council, to be used as I will. Truth and the other Hierarchs do not know about it." the Prophet informed Sorran, turning the scroll to face him. It seemed official, the parchment had the noble seals of all the greatest Councillors. Sorran couldn't speak for a moment, but managed to finally find his voice.

"But...the Council voted to condemn me!" Sorran cried in protest, and the Minister grimaced, gesturing upwards in the general area of the Brute Warden standing outside. Sorran apologised softly, but without any real meaning.

"Would it come as a huge surprise to you Sorran, when I tell you that the Council voted to spare you, by a three unto one margin? The bastard Truth masked this choice." the Prophet told Sorran slowly, and a few moments later the implications of these words fully struck Sorran.

"I--he did?" the Sangheili asked, hurt evident in his voice. The nameless Minister nodded in sympathy.

"I'm afraid so. However, I have had this decision overturned, although none must know of it. Not the Brutes, not Truth, not even your friends, Zharn and Ahkrin." the Prophet instructed Sorran gravely.

"How do you know about those two?" Sorran asked, referring to the latter. The Minister chuckled.

"We know a great deal about you Sorran. And I am willing to offer you a new life, and a place on my Honour Guard."

_The Honour Guard._ A noble position awarded to but the elite few amongst the Sangheili. But what did the Prophet mean by 'we'?

"How will I escape here?" Sorran asked. He could not believe his own words. To think, he was conspiring to commit high heresy! The Prophet did not seem affected by this worry.

"Oh, that is simple enough. Do you wish to come with me?" the Minister asked. After few foolish moments of hesitation, Sorran nodded sharply. The Minister drew out a device and clicked it once. Immediately, the energy manacles restraining Sorran deactivated, and Sorran fell to the cold flagstones below, bruising his knees. He looked up to see the Prophet smiling down at him, hand outstretched. Sorran grasped it, and pulled himself up. He looked around.

"How are we to get past the Brute Warden up top?" Sorran asked, looking at the Minister, who merely held up the three fingers of his left hand. One dropped, and then another. _A countdown._ The final finger fell.

There was a great, startled cry of pain from high above, outside of the cell. That of a Brute's. Sorran looked at the Prophet, who nodded.

"I believe that is the signal to leave. One of my Honour Guard awaits us with a set of armour for you. Come, let us move." the Minister commanded, already leaving the small circular base and heading up the stairs. Sorran ran after him.

"Hold, will it not look suspicious when I am missing from my cell?" the Sangheili asked, holding up a sweating hand. The Prophet shook his head.

"We have a dead clone of you Sorran; imperfect of course, but enough the fool the wardens into thinking you died overnight. It happens." said the Minister, and Sorran's jaw dropped, they'd prepared a clone? That took days. Surely they hadn't been able to take a DNA sample as soon as he arrived at High Charity. . .

"A clone? Forgive my ignorance noble one, but I must question; who are you?" Sorran questioned, and the Prophet looked back.

"Right now, I am the one saving your life. My name is Restraint."


	15. Chapter 15

**Part Fifteen - Truth**

Sorran was roused from his fitful slumber as he heard a crash in the lower chambers. And this wasn't the 'I knocked a plate to the floor whilst preparing a meal' kind of crash. This was the clear smash of glass.

The newly made Honour Guard rose from his floating bed; which was the most comfortable thing he had ever slept upon. Indeed, everything in the Minister of Restraint's quarters was lavish and expensive.

Sorran thought back to the day's events as he shook his tiredness away, and gently lowered the ceremonial headpiece the Honour Guard wore onto his suddenly sweating crown. There had been no trouble in escaping the dungeons of High Charity. As Sorran had passed his flash-clone, he had felt a slight shudder. But he was safe, and in Restraint's quarters, as one of his two Honour Guard.

That a Minister, especially one who used to be one of the Hierarchy, would have but two Honour Guards was incredibly strange. When Sorran had questioned the elderly Prophet about it over dinner, Restraint had ambiguously said that he trusted few, and that's why he still lived.

The other Honour Guard, a rather elderly Sangheili by the name of Hem, had been with Restraint since the beginning. His family and Restraint's had long worked together, and the new generation had been no different. He had his own quarters in the High Charity upper district, and had retired there for the night, warning Sorran as he had left to 'be careful.'

_Was this what Hem had meant when he said that?_ Sorran thought as he grabbed his Energy Stave from the wall. The Stave responded to his will, and sparked, bathing the dim room he slept in in a soft blue glow.

Sorran had had so many questions for Restraint, but the Minister had merely smiled a crooked smile and had shaken his head, saying that Sorran would learn with time. Once Restraint was 100% sure of his motives. In other words, once Sorran was trusted by the Minister he served.

There were further noises down below, and a sinking feeling rose in Sorran's gut. It could have been Jajab, the serving Unggoy, but Sorran doubted it. The small Unggoy, Restraint had informed Sorran, never awoke once he retired for the night. Indeed, it was a daily ritual for the Minister to have to rouse Jajab from his own slumber each dawn.

Sorran secured the shoulder pads he wore, and pressed down on a panel by his door. The mechanical door fled into the frame it was set in, and the new Honour Guard walked out into the candle lit hallway.

Sorran gave thought to waking Restraint, but decided against it. If some burglar _was_ in the house, then better it would be if the elderly Prophet remained asleep.

Another bang below. Whoever it was obviously wasn't well versed in the art of stealth. Either that or the intruder wanted someone to come looking for him. Well, Sorran would be happy to oblige.

The Honour Guard stepped into the gravity lift, and slowly fell down two stories, to the ground level. He looked around; no obvious signs of trouble. However, upon close examination of the door, he saw where metal had obviously been cut, and welded back together once whoever was intruding was inside. Interesting, whoever it was obviously knew the trade.

Sorran moved into the dining chamber, looking around the dim room. No one in sight, bar the Huragok _Floats lower than most._, who assisted Restraint with his hobby of examining Forerunner artefacts the Ministry had deemed useless.

Just as he was about to leave though, Sorran saw something out of place. A stack of documents which had previously been in a neat pile were now askew, spread all over the table. One looked to have half the page missing. Sorran moved forward, and lifted up the light parchment. The ink was faded, and blotched in some places. The page seemed to be a series of notes and thoughts. The bottom ones seemed menial enough. However, half of the middle one was visible, where the page had been nearly torn. Still, it was nearly unreadable, bar a few fragments, such as what seemed to be 'Regret', 'Journey', 'False Writ.' How odd.

As Sorran was still trying to make out the other words, he heard a rustle behind him. Ever so slight, as if a feather had been brushed amongst a pile of leaves, making the smallest of small sounds. Almost small enough to disregard. However, Sorran was suspicious enough to spin around suddenly...

...A good decision, as it became apparent when Sorran's moving stave crashed into a small, blue object. The Energy Stave's shields flickered slightly. Sorran's eyes widened as he saw what he had struck.

A small plasma knife, a burning blue cutting through the sanguine night. The knife bounced of Sorran's stave, and the Honour Guard quickly jumped back, out of reach of any further attacks. He looked closely at the assailant.

It seemed to be a Kig-Yar, garbed in tight robes the colour of the darkest of dark nights. The avian like creature had it's head covered by a hood, shrouding all but it's sharp beak in shadow. It screeched in it's native language. Sorran recognised it as a Kig-Yar curse word from their pirating days.

For a few moments, the Sangheili Honour Guard and Kig-Yar Assassin circled each other wearily. A slight shimmering across the face of the Assassin informed Sorran that the Kig-Yar did indeed possess personal shielding. Sorran hadn't even known such technology existed.

He wasn't allowed much respite however, for at that moment the Jackal brought out from it's person a crystalline pink whip, which hung limply at it's side. The seven shards which made up the whip crackled with power.

It was all Sorran could do to dive out of the way before the whip flew in his direction. As it was, he got lucky, and instead the foremost shard of the whip embedded itself in an ancient bookcase. After a second, the shard exploded, shattering the bookcase and it's containments into a million shards.

As the shards flew through the air, Sorran vaulted over the table, and delivered a strong blow with his stave to the startled Kig-Yar, who reeled backwards, before somehow managing to land on it's feet nimbly. It suddenly lashed out with the whip, and Sorran narrowly avoided the deadly string of shards, throwing himself to the floor. He brought his stave around in a low arc, knocking the Assassin's feet from underneath it. The Jackal collapsed to the ground with a thud, it's whip falling limply to the side.

Before the creature could right itself, Sorran pounced on it, grabbing the Assassin around the neck. He lifted the frail Jackal into the air with a thick, vice like grip on it's small windpipe. With his other hand, Sorran threw back the Kig-Yar's hood, and staring at him were a pair of frantic, buggy eyes. The Assassin attempted desperately to break free of Sorran's grip, managing to bury one of it's throwing knives into the Honour Guard's side. Sorran persisted though, and kept a tight hold. The Jackal's face began to lose it's colour, eyeballs wide, mouth trying to draw air in which didn't have the chance to travel down to it's lungs.

After a few more seconds, the Assassin went limp. A quick read of it's pulse told Sorran that he had perhaps gone a little too far. The Kig-Yar was dead. With disgust, he let the corpse fall to the floor.

Sorran stood there, breathing deeply. He remained alert; for all he knew there could be several other Jackals in the house. After it became apparent that if there were any, then they had fled, the Honour Guard began to search the Jackal's corpse. He eventually found a scrap of parchment. Complex runes decorated the header. Sorran decoded them and saw what the parchment was: a hit list. And listed below, in ink the colour of Jackal blood, was a single name. Restraint.

It was then that Sorran heard a noise behind him, and he spun, anticipating another brawl. Instead, he only saw the Minister of Restraint, wearing a satisfied grimace. Sorran noted with surprise that the Minister was supported by only a wooden cane, rather than the chair the Honour Guard had been led to believe was needed.

"You have done well Sorran." Restraint croaked, nudging the Assassin gently with the edge of a boot. The Jackal rolled over, it's lifeless eyes staring into the ceiling above. Sorran frowned.

"Well done? Was this your idea of a test?" the Sangheili asked, and he could hear the anger in his own voice. The Prophet reeled around, scowling.

"Don't be a fool!" Restraint barked, and then, noting Sorran's sheepish expression, softened slightly, "this was no test."

"Then what--?" Sorran began to question, stepping forward. He was cut off by Restraint.

"This was an Assassin, and no inefficient one at that. This Kig-Yar bears the symbol of the _Shadow of Relic._ Have you heard of them, Sorran?"

Indeed he had, or at least he had heard the rumours. Effectively an Assassins cult, one of the most efficient and deadly there was. They took members of every species, although the Kig-Yar were the most predominant; they had a history of espionage and murder. Sorran merely nodded before asking his next question.

"Why was one of the Relic attempting to kill you, noble one?" Sorran questioned of the Prophet, who sighed.

"Dispose of this body, and meet me in the lounge. I shall reveal to you the truth. You won't like it, you won't believe it. But it is the truth." Restraint told him, and the Sangheili Honour Guard nodded slowly, frowning in confusion. Still, he had an order, and so hefted up the dead Assassin, and prepared to burn the body.

* * *

"You are, I take it, familiar with the history of the Writ?" Restraint asked Sorran as the two sat before the roaring fire. The stench of blood from both Sorran and the felled Jackal, which now lay on the burning flames, was strong.

"Of course. The Prophets discovered evidence of the Great Journey, and proposed an alliance between them and we, the Sangheili, in an effort to uncover this Journey." Sorran recited from memory, confused as to why the Minister would ask such a question. Restraint merely nodded gravely, drumming his tapered fingertips together.

"And thus the Covenant was born, out of this promise of the Great Journey." the Prophet spat mockingly. Sorran leaned forward, concerned.

"What is your point?" the Sangheili questioned bluntly, forgetting about the honorific suffix he usually would have used. Restraint instead decided to answer his question with a question.

"How much do you believe in the promise of the Path, Honour Guard of mine?"

This threw Sorran off. He wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. However, in the short time he had known Restraint, the Minister had never rebuked him for expressing his opinion.

"I am no zealot, noble one, yet I, like all of the Covenant, believe in the Journey. How could I not?" Sorran replied, apprehension clear in his voice. Restraint merely sighed, shaking his head sadly.

"I was afraid you would say that. It will make what I'm about to tell you even harder. Sorran; there is no Great Journey. It's all a lie." the Minister revealed, and Sorran could sense no trace of jest in the Prophet's voice. Even so, he broke out into a smile.

"How very amusing noble one." Sorran said, an air of certainty about him. There was no doubt in his mind that the Prophet was lying. This didn't seem to be the response Restraint expected, for his face screwed up in annoyance.

"This is no joke Sangheili, although I wish with all my heart that it was. All you have ever known, every history lesson, religious ceremony, everything. All of it a grand deception." the Minister snapped back, and Sorran blinked, realising the Prophet truly believed himself to be speaking the truth. The Sangheili was now worried; had the Jackal slipped some sort of Hallucinogen into the rich wine Restraint was now drinking?

"Noble Minister, this night has been distressing for us all I think. Come, let us clear our minds of these heretical thoughts, and retire to our quarters." Sorran suggested, beginning to stand. An icy command from Restraint forced him to sit once again.

"I told you you would not believe me, at first. But I offer no lies here. Perhaps if I explain fully, from the beginning, you will understand."

Sorran was still worried about the Minister, and had half a mind to disobey Restraint's command and go fetch a healer to purge the poison that was so obviously flowing through the Prophet's veins as he spoke. However, there was just enough sincerity in Restraint's tones to keep him seated. He nodded for the Minister to continue.

"Now you know doubt know that years ago, I was a High Hierarch, alongside the Prophet of Tolerance, and Prophetess of Obligation. Both of them are now dead. Now, Regret, Mercy, and the snake Truth have replaced as Hierarchs. No doubt you hold them in the highest opinion, brainwashed as you are. However, I shall tell you how they came to power."  
Now Sorran was truly intrigued. He had heard of Tolerance and Obligation's demise a few years ago, both apparently victims of a serial killer. Restraint then moved on with his tale.

"I am on a list of those San 'Shyuum who are forbidden to partake in the reproduction process, as you may or may not know. There are so few of my race that such precautionary measures have to be taken, in order to keep our legacy pure of mind and body. However; I am ashamed to admit, I did not adhere to this law. I bed a female when I was Hierarch, and she fell pregnant with my offspring."

This was something Sorran hadn't heard before.

"I should have had the foetus terminated as soon as I knew. But I couldn't. It was my child, my legacy. And no matter how flawed it would be, I would cherish it."

A noble sentiment indeed.

"The birth date loomed ever closer, and I began to grow worried. Should word have leaked out that I sired a child, then no matter what position I held, I would be executed within the week. Nervous, I approached whom I thought to be a trustworthy friend; the Vice Minister of Tranquillity. You will know him better as Regret. I told him about the ill begotten child, and implored him to claim it as his own. He told me he would consider it."

Restraint's gaze then grew dark.

"Little did I know the poisonous snake would do what he decided to do. He went to the Minister of Fortitude, whom you know better as Truth, and informed him of my situation. Together, they hatched a plan together. Tranquillity began to drop subtle hints of what the two were planning, drunken braggart that he always was."

"And then the demand came. Tranquillity delivered an ultimatum; either I, and my fellow Hierarchs step down, or he would reveal my darkest secret. I spent many a day conferring with Tolerance and Obligation. Good friends, we were, all of us, and they understood the danger I was in. And so, together, we stepped down from the seat of power. I watched as the bastards Fortitude, Tranquillity, and the Philologist, now Mercy, ascended up the arms of the Dreadnought."

Some of this was common knowledge. It troubled Sorran, however, that the three leaders he had but a week ago revered and honoured were dishonourable cads.

"But that, whilst horrible in itself, is not all. One night, in a drunken stupor, Regret appeared at my doorstep. He had the look of someone ready to boast about him. I tried to turn him away, but he commanded me to grant him access to my house. Indeed, he was sat in the very same chair you sit in now, Sorran."

"And what he told me that night shook me. Apparently, he, Truth, and Mercy, had spoken with the Oracle, within the Dreadnought."

Sorran couldn't help but gasp. Never in living memory had the Oracle spoke, not since the Writ had been formed originally.

"And the Oracle told them the truth. You have, no doubt wondered why our Covenant is so obsessed with destroying the humans? It is all because Truth is afraid. You see, Sorran, the humans are not infidels. They are our Gods. They are the Forerunner, those who were left behind."

This was too much for the Sangheili to take. The wine glass he held tumbled to the ground, smashing into an infinite amount of shards. Restraint hardly took note, carrying on with his tale.

"And yet still, my tale is not finished. After their ascendancy, the three new Hierarchs visited to Oracle once again, reconnected it, although had Huragok ready to disconnect it should the Oracle prove troublesome as it had last time. And this time, the Oracle told them the horrifying truth: there is not Great Journey. The Sacred Rings the Covenant has revered for aeons are not divine propellers to the heavens, they are weapons. If activated, Halo will rush through the stars indeed, as the Writ says, but is shall not place us on the Path. It will kill us every Sentient being in the galaxy. All this came from Regret's own foolish mouth, and I have since gathered evidence supporting his claims."

There was a silence as Sorran digested this information. He then slowly shook his head, softly at first, then more aggressively.

"No, it's not true. You lie!" the Sangheili accused, pointing a disrespectful finger at the solemn Minister, who shook his head.

"What possible reason could I have to lie Sorran? I speak only the truth. It hurts, I know, I myself sat curled in a foetal position for hours after Regret had left my abode. But rest assured, I--" Restraint was then broken off as Sorran, in his blind rage, hefted his stave, and held it mere centimetres from the Minister's feeble heart.

"Enough with your heresy! I should report you to the Ministry for this!" Sorran threatened, and Restraint showed no fear, merely hanging his head.

"I have proof, if you would see it." the Minister said softly, and for some reason Sorran shook his head. Perhaps, deep down, he knew it to be true. But he didn't want to admit it, didn't want to admit his entire life, and upbringing, had been a lie. Still, when Restraint offered him documents, he took them.

As he read, he became less and less certain. All of these words, damning evidence. Suddenly, every non-nonsensical thing he had ever questioned made perfect sense. This was no lie, it all fit too perfectly for that. And that's when it hit Sorran; Restraint was telling the truth.

With a sob, Sorran let to documents fall to the ground in a heap, with him tumbling after them. He kneeled there for what seemed hours, weeping. He then felt a soft hand on his back, and looked up to see Restraint, wearing a sympathetic expression.

"It is hard, isn't it? But you shall get through, even as I did. But three outside the Hierarchs know this truth, I, Hem, and now you." the Minister said, and Sorran frowned through his tears.

"We must tell everyone of this." the Sangheili muttered, before Restraint snapped back at him.

"Don't be a fool. Do you believe the Hierarchs to be oblivious to my knowledge? The very next day, Regret came around again, threatening to kill me should I ever reveal it. The three Hierarchs have long since tried to get me kicked off the High Council, but have been overruled by the Council in every attempt they make. Truth has been sending assassins around ever since, and whilst Hem has been able to fend them off long enough, he is growing old. You must now take up his mantle."

Sorran still believed they should inform the rest of the Covenant.

"I will tell the masses, you will not be implicate--" Sorran began, and Restrain cut in once again.

"Do you honestly think that they would believe you, a mere Honour Guard? Truth, Regret and Mercy would merely deny your allegations, and then would have you, and most likely I, being your master, killed for high heresy. The Covenant is too brainwashed to accept such a revelation. We must merely keep the secret alive, so when the time comes, they can be told." the Minister said wisely, and Sorran finally understood Restraint's reasons.

"I understand, Minister. May I retire for the night? I have much to ponder upon." Sorran asked, still weeping. Restraint softened, nodding.

"Of course. Worry not Sorran, I have survived long enough with this truth. Indeed, it opens up a larger world, when you truly think about it. You shall not have to worry about another assassin for a while. Truth dares not hire more than one every two weeks, for fear of arousing too much suspicion. Good night Sorran. You are indeed a True Sangheili, to accept this with so much dignity." the Minister told Sorran. Sorran grunted.

"Dignity? I feel ready to collapse onto the ground in a writhing mass..." the Honour Guard muttered as he stepped into the gravity lift. Restraint did not hear him.

_My whole life has been a lie. Every single moment of it. However, every moment from now on shall be as true as can be._

**END SECTION I**


	16. Chapter 16

**SECTION II**

**Part Sixteen - Life goes on**

"Cover my back Ahkrin,"

"Cover it with what O' revered Ultra?"

Zharn scowled; even now, with he being a Ultra, Ahkrin still couldn't resist the urge to throw in jibes at him in every possible circumstance.

"Your _eyes_ Ahkrin, watch out for human snipers," Zharn impressed upon the other Sangheili, who smiled.

"Is that an order sir?"

_Why does he always have to be like this? He knows I hate it when he thinks of me as his commander._

"Take it as you will, just do it."

Indeed Zharn would need his friend's uncanny level of sight, the rocks in the valley were so numerous that hundreds of humans could be concealed with their snipers, and Zharn would be none the wiser. Ahkrin tended to notice the little things though, such as a leaf not pointing in the same direction as others in its cluster.

The pair scurried from rock to rock, always alert. Active camouflage would do no good here, thermal sights on the human sniper scopes would detect them instantly. Far better for he and Ahkrin to use body cooling technology which masked them from such thermal scopes.

When they were a quarter of a way through the valley, Ahkrin suddenly tackled Zharn to the ground, behind a rather large boulder. Zharn stared at his friend in anger.

"By the Journey Ahkrin, what are you--?" the Ultra was cut off as a sniper bullet then flew over them, leaving a streak in the air as it flew by. Zharn blinked.

"Ah. Thank you. Now what?"

Ahkrin merely signalled for Zharn to stay pressed against the rock, and to stay motionless.

"The sniper won't have had a proper glimpse of us, in all probability he saw a shadow flicker through his scope and shot nervously. Wait here for a few minutes, we will be safe," the Stealth Sangheili instructed Zharn, who laughed sharply.

"That's what you said when we were boarding that human ship," he reminded Ahkrin, who scowled.

"I had no idea that fusion reactor would blow, I'm no Huragok. Besides, the Phantom arrived before we ran out of air, and so why do you still talk about that incident?" Sangheili with bloodlines as strong as Ahkrin's could often be very highly strung, especially when their abilities were question. Zharn, not wanting an argument now of all times, with a sniper looking out for them, decided to let the memory drop.

"Do you think the human has disregarded us?" Zharn asked half a minute later, breaking the awkward silence. Ahkrin shook his head firmly.

"Nay, the barbarian dogs can be persevering creatures. Give it a little while longer."

Zharn nodded, before sighing.

"It's been three weeks since Sorran's body was found dead in his cell. And I know what you will say, but I can't forget about it. If I'd been in the city with you, with him when he'd been about to slay the Brute, maybe I could have changed things," the Ultra said sadly, shaking his head. Ahkrin nodded.

"Perhaps, but I find it better not to dwell on what might have been."

Zharn smiled crookedly, and then suddenly frowned.

"You say a lance of Jackals saw the crime. I'm surprised you did not...deal with them before they reported the incident, it would be nothing new to one of dubious moralities such as you."

Ahkrin then chuckled, shoulders rising and falling as he did so.

"I tried to do just that Zharn, and managed to 'deal with', as you say, all but one. A cunning figure he was, and I suspect he was deliberately hiding from me. Bastard. Perhaps I should have arranged for the Prophet who reported to the Ministry Sorran's crime to die in suspicious yet inconclusive circumstances, before he could report of course," the Stealth Sangheili mused. Zharn laughed at what he thought to be a joke, before noticing Ahkrin's regretful expression. The Ultra stared incredulously at his friend.

"You're serious are you not?" Zharn questioned Ahkrin, who nodded humbly.

"It could have been done. A human poison -- human so suspicion falls upon _them_ -- laced within the Prophet's evening tea. I would have then killed the bastard Jackal, and that would have been that. Ah, if only time were not so linear," the Stealth Sangheili explained. Zharn scoffed.

"Sorran got condemned to death for slaying a _Brute_. I can't even begin to imagine the horrors that would be inflicted on you for going through with such murders." Ahkrin smiled wryly as Zharn said that.

"Indeed, but you forget something: Sorran is--was not a trained assassin. I am. If I so wished it, I could have made all the evidence for the theoretical killings point towards a Brute in the camp, or you Zharn."

Zharn rose his eyebrows at that, muttering a sharp retort, but he knew Ahkrin did not boast without reason; his friend really was that efficient.

"Perhaps. Is it safe?"

Ahkrin held up a hand, slowly popping his head over the rock. A few seconds later, he ducked back down and nodded.

"The human sniper is busy foolishly clogging his lungs with smoke. The path is clear, let us move."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

_Look at those fools below. Ignorant, accepting, following a blind prophet...How I envy them_, Sorran thought to himself as he stared down at those below. A wave of emotion swept over him, and he pushed himself away from the window ledge, looking into the mirror. The Sangheili staring back at him from the shining surface was certainly he, and yet at the same time the reflection was a complete and total stranger.

_Who am I, to be entrusted with such a dark secret? The fact I am the son of a now deceased Deacon Master makes it all the more ironic._

Sorran stared at the fine robes that now covered his lean body. Restraint was certainly no frugal spender when it came to outfitting his guards. Sorran had been provided with an entire new wardrobe by the Minister, as well as weapons far more powerful than anything he had used in the Covenant military. His armour was ancient, harking back to near pre-Covenant times, possessing a kind of reverence about it.

_I'm an Honour Guard. Me. One who was, not too long ago, a person of little significance. A scholar of small worth._

It was nearly too much to take in, and Sorran felt a familiar uncomfortable feeling build within his head. These migraines had become all too common in the past few weeks.

The door behind him suddenly sounded as a person entered. Sorran turned to see Hem, Restraint's second personal Honour Guard. The Minister had scores of guards in his chain of command, but only Sorran and Hem knew of the Covenant's dark secret.

"Another headache?" the Elder Honour Guard questioned sympathetically. Sorran nodded slowly, before groaning as another spasm of pain crashed over him.

"Indeed. And nightmares too. Horrible, chilling shades haunt my dreams."

"I'll have an Unggoy bring you a medicinal draught. Aside from that, how are you faring?"

Sorran shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.

"As well as could be expected. I miss my old life--not being a Scholar, but strangely enough, I lament the loss of no longer being in the military alongside Zharn and Ahkrin," he sighed softly. Hem nodded gravely.

"Such is the curse of being a dead man; no one can know you still live Sorran."

"And yet I still keep my name?"

There was a pause.

"Whilst not completely commonplace, your name is not rare enough that being hailed Sorran shall draw suspicion to you."

_Then I am not an entirely complete stranger; I still keep my name, and the sanctuary of my thoughts._

"That is one thing to be grateful for. Is there a reason you've come, noble Elder, other than to soothe my mind?" Sorran questioned the older Sangheili, who folded his arms.

"Quite. Restraint has requested that you ready yourself, he, I and you are to journey to the Great Library come noon."  
Panic gripped Sorran's heart in a vice-like grip, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He stared at Hem incredulously.

"Surely you jest; do you not know where I used to work? Someone shall recognise me!" Sorran protested in terror. Hem chuckled, shaking his head.

"Which is why you shall wear this."

The Elder Honour Guard tossed something in Sorran's direction, which the younger Sangheili deftly caught. He brought the object before his eyes, and saw a round, spherical helmet; a scarlet red with golden t-blam!-s.

"Pretty," Sorran appraised, placing the helm on his head. The Sangheili looked into the mirror, only to see an emotionless mask stare back at him. The helmet completely masked who he was; the mouth guard even covered his mandibles.

"And efficient. When speaking, try to change your voice a little. Put on an accent akin to those some on the colonies wear. If all goes well, you could stand speaking to your own father and he wouldn't recognise you!" Hem remarked, and Sorran's gaze from within his helm grew cold.

"My father is dead, as is all my family."

The older Sangheili's expression grew apologetic and sombre.

"My condolences and apologies young one, I did not know," Hem told Sorran, who shrugged.

"It matters not. That was a different life, belonging to a now dead Sangheili. I must move on, if I am to stay sane."

Hem stared at Sorran with a look of impressed respect, before turning towards the doorway.

"I shall leave you to prepare in peace. Restraint expects us in the lower quarters within the hour. Anything else you wish to speak to me about?"

Sorran sighed, gathering his new shoulder pads, affixing them slowly to his slight arms.

"Not particularly. I can't help but wonder about Zharn and Ahkrin; they have a tendency to get themselves into trouble. Don't misunderstand me; they are formidable warriors, each in their own right -- but sometimes they can get in over there heads when they don't have a wise mouth to lend them consul," he poured out to Hem, his tone wistful. The Elder Sangheili nodded slowly, with a reassuring smile on his face.

"You worry too much young one. I'm sure your friends are perfectly okay, no doubt returning victorious from another battle."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What do you see Ahkrin?"

There was silence from the Stealth Sangheili for a few moments.

"Trouble. Of the demonic variety," Ahkrin reported solemnly, prompting a stare from Zharn.

"Pass me the binoculars, I wish to see for myself."

Wordlessly and ashen faced, Ahkrin passed Zharn the small device. The Ultra crawled between a gap in a large rock, and brought the goggles to his eyes, surveying the outside of the warehouse in the distance.

He then saw it. The flash of an orange visor standing tall amongst the otherwise blue visors of the ODSTs. Breathlessly, Zharn ducked back behind the rock, facing Ahkrin with a grimace.

"A Demon is here?" he questioned unnecessarily. Ahkrin smiled darkly.

"Not _a_ Demon, _the Demon._ The very same you supposedly killed back at the human base a while ago," the Stealth Sangheili corrected with a sigh. Zharn frowned doubtfully.

"Impossible Ahkrin, not even one of the Sharquoi could have survived such a grave fall as the one the Spartan experienced. How do reach this unlikely conclusion?" the Ultra demanded. Ahkrin rolled his eyes, as if he were annoyed that he had to explain himself. Arrogance incarnate.

"The number on the Demon's chestplate matches that which was displayed across the helmet you took as a trophy. The Demon you fought and the figure by the warehouse are one and the same."

"You remember the number?"

"I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't. So, glorious leader, how do you propose we steal back that which is rightfully ours under the watchful gaze of the Demon?"

Zharn let out a deep breath he hadn't enough known to be holding. The human infidels on Eridanus II had somehow managed to get their heretical hands on a Covenant technology cache en route from High Charity to the 7th fleet. The technology was well encrypted, but everyone knew that the humans could be deviously intuitive at times. They would eventually find a way to reverse engineer the technology, which could give them significant advantages, such as energy shielding, and perhaps even blue prints for plasma weapons.

That couldn't be allowed to happen.

"I am unsure. I bested the Spartan once, but that was down to luck, and the fact he was already weakened. Perhaps we should listen in to their conversations, perhaps it would give us an idea of what we face."

Ahkrin nodded, bringing out sound sensitive equipment. When activated, it would allow the two Sangheili to hear everything the humans by the warehouse said to each other. If they so wished, they could hear a spider on the other side of the valley spinning its web.

After a few moments, the equipment was activated. Zharn patched his suit in to its frequency so he could hear.

"...we're too exposed out here," one of the human marines, a private, grumbled, kicking the ground. Another taller, smug looking character dressed in officer's clothing gave the private a stare that could have burnt through a Hunter's shield.

"Are you questioning my tactical decisions private?"

Instantly, the private cringed -- he evidently hadn't thought anyone but his friend would hear him.

"No Colonel Errand sir..." the private trailed off, after giving a pathetic excuse for a salute. The human Colonel named Errand sneered in contempt, before turning to face the Demon.

"038, how far away is the heavy lifting VTOL?" the Colonel muttered, speaking quietly. The other marines wouldn't be able to hear him, but Zharn and Ahkrin could.

"About an hour Colonel Ackerson," the Spartan replied curtly. Zharn frowned in confusion. _Ackerson?_ Just a moment ago, another marine had called him Errand.

_How odd. Perhaps it is a human thing._

Zharn turned to Ahkrin, expression bleak.

"We have less than an hour to secure the cache and call in the Reaver."

Ahkrin scowled.

"I know that! Why can't we just bring in reinforcements?" The Stealth Sangheili sounded stressed, and Zharn could tell he was thinking hard.

"No possible way. Humans have AA turrets all around this area of the planet -- only a Stealth Reaver is fast and quiet enough to make it through -- they are hardly troop transports."

"Then we are alone."

"For now? Yes."

Ahkrin poked his head above the rock once again, scanning the surroundings. A short while later, he faced Zharn again, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Worry not. I have a plan."


	17. Chapter 17

**Part 17 - Things never go according to plan**

Scribes and scholars observed Sorran and Hem with awe as the two grandly dressed Honour Guard strode through the tight corridors which littered the study district of High Charity. Sorran felt nervous, jumping at every shadow, glaring at every person who glanced their way. And all the while, he was expected to keep his stave in sync with Hem's, so the two formed a barrier in front of Restraint.

Sorran's head rose up and down as he constantly checked the rooftops. They seemed to be an awful security risk; any fool who was a dab hand with a rifle could pick the Minister off. Or could they? Sorran had no idea just how powerful Restraint's personal energy shields were.

Hem didn't seem to be worried, and if he was, the old Sangheili certainly didn't show it outright. He walked tall and confident, his being giving off a sense of power. Even Hunters assigned to guard posts moved out of his way anxiously.

Sorran, on the other hand, evidently radiated an air of uncertainty. Fellow Sangheili leered at him suspiciously, Unggoy glared at him bitterly, Jackals stared at him between narrow eyes.  
As he was staring at a rooftop in paranoia, he suddenly felt himself smash into something solid and fall to the ground. Dazed, he looked up to see a Hunter surveying him in anger.

"Be mindful of where you walk!" The Hunter's voice rumbled like the crashing of a thousand lightning storms, sending fear straight down Sorran's spine. A crowd had gathered around Sorran and the Hunter, no doubt wanting to see the blind Honour Guard stomped upon by the raging behemoth towering over him. Sorran swallowed nervously.

"Sorry," he muttered, trying to scramble to his feet. The Hunter stared incredulously at his bond brother behind him, before turning back to the frightened Sangheili.

"So you should be!"

The Hunter hefted Sorran up with a lone hand, ramming him painfully into the wall of the book keeper's, causing the metal to dint.

Sorran managed to break out of his panicking stupor, and glared at the Hunter, who had the clear look of murder about him. Without waiting to find out if the Hunter would grow angrier, Sorran reached down to his belt with a clear hand and drew out his energy sword, driving it into the left leg of the huge beast. Lekgolo worms tumbled to the ground as they died, burned to death by the searing hot plasma. The Hunter cried out in pain, dropping Sorran to the ground. The Hunter removed the sword from its leg with a yowl, before leering down at Sorran. It swung its heavy shield in the Honour Guard's direction, raging. Sorran ducked the blow, which instead took a sizeable chunk out of the building it struck. The Sangheili hefted his dropped stave from the ground, igniting its charge. He aimed it at the Hunter's exposed torso, and--

"Part fools!" a familiar voice cried out over the turmoil of the small fight. A moment later, Hem came into few, his own energy sword drawn. He stared at Sorran, stave raised; and the Hunter, Assault Cannon glowing a dangerous green as it warmed up. Understanding the situation, Hem grabbed the startled Hunter by the folds in its armour, somehow driving the huge juggernaut against the opposite wall menacingly. The Hunter's bond brother stood, uncertain, as was the crowd looking on.

"Do you realise who you brawl with _worm_?" Hem demanded of the Hunter, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the crowd. 'Worm' was one of the worst insults one could attribute to the Mglekgolo.

"We--" the Hunter began to justify, voice uncertain.

"That was a rhetorical question! Speak not, and know your place. I and my friend whom you scrap with are regal Honour Guards of the noble Minister of Restraint," Hem informed the Hunter, the Lekgolo eels which formed it each growing paler. The crowd had grown wide-eyed; Restraint was not a name to be bandied about lightly. Whilst he may not be Hierarch anymore, he still commanded a lot of influence with the Council.

"We did not know--" Hunters always referred to themselves as 'we', never 'I'.

"Quite evidently. Only a fool would pick a fight with Restraint's Guard. I should have you thrown to imprisoned Jackals; they could make good use of the meat," Hem threatened. Sorran clambered to his feet, staring darkly at the Hunter. And at the same time he was astounded. Long ago, had such a fight occurred, he would have been torn to shreds by the Hunter, who would receive no punishment. Being an Honour Guard of one so respected has its advantages.  
"What has transpired here?" the voice was Restraint's. All faces turned to survey the Prophet as he moved through the parting ensemble. Hem growled one last time at the Hunter, before tearing his gaze away.

"Noble master, this...leech has deemed it appropriate to attack Honour Guard Sorran," Hem explained to the Minister, who regarded the Hunter and his bond brother (who seemed to be trying to distance himself from his mate) through narrowed eyes.

"Really now? And was this attack provoked?" Restraint demanded. The circle of onlookers around them instantly began to shake their heads in Sorran's favour. Sorran hesitated.

"I may have bumped into the Hunter by accident. But it overreacted," he said, not wanting to Hunter to be killed just for offending him. Restraint turned to the Hunter.

"Is this true?"

There was silence for a few moments, in which the Hunter shifted on its feet nervously.

"Perhaps." Restraint's eyebrows rose at the behemoth's ambiguous reply, "We mean; yes, noble one. We apologise."

The Minister sighed, before frowning.

"We have wasted much time here. Hunter, your life shall be spared. You and your bond brother will, however, report to your superior for reassignment of the negative kind. Do you understand my wishes?" Restraint instructed the Hunter and his paired mate. Sorran thought it a little unfair that the other Hunter was to be punished for his bond brother's crime. Then again, the two were telepathically linked, both being formed by eels of the same colony, so it made sense.

"Yes, noble Minster," the two Hunters replied in unison, marching off glumly. Restraint smiled, satisfied. Hem still seemed angry about the incident.

"Don't you have better affairs to attend to?" he demanded of the awed crowd, who instantly scurried away, busying themselves. Restraint glided over to Sorran.

"Are you hurt?" the Minister questioned. Sorran shrugged.

"A little bruised, but I think the Hunter ended up worse off."

Hem walked up to the Minister, seeming upset with the Prophet.

"Tell me old friend, _why_ did you allow that worm to leave with his life? You should have thrown him in a vat of hot oil for his insolence. Attacking an Honour Guard! How dare he even have the--"

"Hem, you're rambling," Restraint told his friend with a laugh, holding up a hand. Sorran smiled wryly.

"I heard the trait of senility came with age," he joked, which received the young Honour Guard a shove from the older.

"Killing one who has offended you is a very low thing to do. I am no Prophet of Truth," Restraint explained. The mood between the group of three turned darker at Truth's mention.

"I suppose you are right," Hem grumbled, sounding very much like the old Sangheili he was, "but that doesn't mean I like it."

"And you don't have to. Such is the blessing of free will. Now come, we must hurry if we are to reach the Great Library before all the pesky scholars awaken. No offence intended Sorran," the Minister added the last part in response to Sorran's wordless protest.

"Oh, and Sorran? Try not to pick another fight with someone twice the height of you."

* * *

_"I am in position Ahkrin. Are you?"_

Ahkrin hesitated for a few moments, wondering one last time if his hastily thrown together plan was a sound one. Then he cleared his head of doubtful thoughts.

"Of course," he told Zharn over the channel with false bravado. The Ultra scoffed, before terminating the link.

Ahkrin looked down at the humans below, by the warehouse. The Demon was still there -- his weapon was holstered, but Ahkrin knew that the Spartan would be able to kill him in a hundred different ways without the assistance of fire arms.

Then the signal came. A single human shot was fired in the air, followed by a surge of plasma fire. The sounds came from the distance, back down in the valley where the snipers had sat positioned. Immediately the human shoulders were alert, bringing out their primitive weapons, squinting hard down the valley. Colonel Errand frowned.

"We've got Covenant. 038, take ten of my men and head down to find out what the hell is going on with Sierra Bravo 1."

The Demon nodded, signalling for a group of marines to follow him. The group trudged off into the distance, into the mist.

The human Colonel below scowled, and shouted something unintelligible at a group of ODSTs, followed by a command. The troopers moved around the corner of the warehouse, leaving Errand on his lonesome. Errand stared at the skies nervously.

He should have kept his eyes on the ground.

Ahkrin disengaged his stealth camouflage in front of the Colonel, punching him in the face. Armour met skin, and the Sangheili felt several bones smash under his fist. The Colonel went reeling back, holding his bloodied nose in shock. Ahkrin gave the human no respite, landing a solid kick in the human's gut. Errand collapsed to the ground in pain, staring up desperately at his attacker. Ahkrin grew arrogant, believing the Colonel beat.

Therefore, he was shocked when Errand drew out from his coat a small object, tossing it in Ahkrin's direction. The Sangheili stared at it curiously, before he realised with horror just what he was staring at.

Flashbang.

Before Ahkrin could avert his eyes, the world exploded in a flurry of light and sound.

* * *

_Ahkrin has gotten himself captured? Oh, this is ironic,_ Zharn chuckled inwardly as he watched a group of ODSTs drag his unconscious friend inside the warehouse.

He was stood at a distance from the humans, surveying the situation from a perch previously held by a marine sniper. In his hands, Zharn held one of the human rifles. It was a primitive thing, and Zharn was worried it would fall to pieces within his hands if he fired it. Gas operated no doubt, with metal bullets. Zharn's finger barely fit within the small alcove where the sniper rifle's trigger rested.

Still, it would have to do. He looked through the inefficient scope of the weapon, surveying the inside of the warehouse through a window. The humans had tied Ahkrin up, binding him to a chair. Evidently they intended to use him as a hostage. At least he wasn't dead.

How far away was the UNSC VTOL ship now? Probably less than an hour. Zharn sighed, drawing away from the affixed sniper scope for a second, bringing out a communications device from his pocket.

"Ahkrin? Ahkrin, can you hear me?"

The words would be spoken over an encrypted channel, so the humans wouldn't hear them. In turn, the transmitter on Ahkrin's end picked up on the slightest vibrations. The Stealth Sangheili wouldn't even have to make a whisper to reply.

_"Affirmative brother, I hear you,"_ came the amplified reply. Zharn smiled despite himself; a marine was standing guard over Ahkrin less than a metre away, and yet the two Sangheili were holding a conversation under his nose.

"What's the situation Ahkrin? No games, we have less than an hour."

A noise of pain echoed back to Zharn, who realised that Ahkrin must be in pain.

_"Actually Zharn, we have less than forty minutes. The human ship has landed at the far end of the valley, the Demon has started to take their stolen technology to it. We can't let them, it'd give them an advantage the Covenant can't afford to let them have."_

Zharn didn't need that explaining to him. He grimaced.

"Command will have to understand the situation -- we're moving to the secondary plan, despite the risks.."

_"Is that the one where we blow everything up?"_

"The very same. Hold on Ahkrin, we'll get you out."

"Hurry friend; the human's haven't provided me with blankets. The warehouse is freezing."

The communications link ended. Zharn looked through the human sniper scope to see a wry smile plastered across Ahkrin's face.

_He always has to get the last, sarcastic word in. Now, time to request an army._


	18. Chapter 18

**Part 18 - The sound of battle**

Zharn fired a round from the human sniper, which drove through the head of a marine like a drill. The human collapsed to the ground, only to be stepped on by a raging pair of Hunters moments later.

The Demon leaped into the centre of the two colossal behemoth's, holding nothing but a primitive shotgun. After a few moments of frenzied scrapping, during which the Demon suffered not a single scratch, both Hunters collapsed to the ground, the few surviving Lekgolo eels scattering in fright.

Overhead, Banshees and Phantoms flew with unparalleled grace, unloading troopers and cutting down screaming soldiers only to be shot down by the incredibly effective Surface-to-Air-Missiles positioned around the canyon.

In the tight space of the gorge below, a small mass of Covenant troops were attempting to cut the humans off from the base in which Ahkrin was held captive. Zharn knew, however, that to the Covenant securing the technology cache was the number one priority -- Ahkrin was expendable. Not to him however. As he saw a human try to roughly grab Ahkrin in a desperate attempt to take the Stealth Sangheili captive, Zharn let loose another round, felling the marine.

The Demon, along with a group of ten marines, a few ODSTs and Colonel Errand, were pushing back to the Albatross VTOL at the end of the canyon, the one which had landed but a few moments before the Covenant reinforcements Zharn had requested arrived. Zharn knew that any shot he fired from this ineffective human rifle would be diverted by the incredibly strong winds billowing below. Dust was being kicked up everywhere, and Zharn had a hard time viewing what was happening below him.

Taking a deep breath, Zharn closed his eyes, unloading stress which had built up in him. At any moment now the humans could decide to self destruct the base in which Ahkrin was trapped. That was the main reason why the Major below commanding the reinforcements was unwilling to send any of his men to rescue him. Zharn knew he couldn't in good conscience override the Major's orders, that would be a disgrace to his honour.

No, if Ahkrin was going to be saved, then Zharn would have to do it himself. Wonderful.

Zharn drew back from the sniper, and turned to see a human standing behind him with a knife, evidently petrified at having been caught in the act of what would have been the death of Zharn.

"Run now, and I might not decide to waste the effort it would take to kill you." Zharn decided to give the poor, practically unarmed young marine a chance. The human dropped his knife and bolted...right into the path of a crashing Banshee. Zharn winced as the heavy metal alloy of the fighter's cockpit drove through the marine's stomach, pinning him to the ground in a wave of blood and flesh.

Zharn shook his head sadly, before returning his attention to the task before him. The drop to the bottom of the canyon was about 400 metres. Whilst it had been easy enough getting up, climbing back down could prove to be a problem. Zharn didn't have the time to travel down the long way -- there was no other option; he would have to scale down the face of the cliff edge.  
Zharn hated heights.

With a sigh of reluctance and resignation, Zharn drew out two blades from his belt, igniting the nearly weightless swords in his hands. One was a striking, electric blue, designed to parry and kill with slow, heavy swipes. The other was a narrow, red rapier, with only one blade protruding out of the plasma shaping hilt. This special type of energy sword was designed to kill quickly, and efficiently.

With a grunt, Zharn swung himself over the cliff edge, driving both blades deep into the sturdy rock. His fall grounded to a halt.

_Do_ not _look down Zharn,_ the Sangheili Ultra thought to himself firmly, a second before glancing down. The sheer scope of the drop nearly made him vomit. He took in a deep breath, and took out the red blade, driving it in slightly further down. Then, with a groan, Zharn removed the blue blade, and for a sickening second felt himself drop slightly until the red blade stayed his fall. He repeated the process many times, until he was about halfway down to the cliff edge.

Suddenly, Zharn felt a strong wind hit him from behind, accompanied by the roar of an engine. With dread, he turned around to see a human Falcon gunship practically staring at him. There was nowhere to run.

How close was the Falcon? Probably not close enough, but Zharn had no choice anyway. Tucking his legs under his chest, Zharn then kicked out at the cliff, sliding both swords out from the rock and launching himself backwards through the air.

He then hit something. Hard. And it wasn't the ground! Excellent. The Falcon had charged up it's mini-gun, and was now spraying the wall where Zharn had hung moments before. It then spun around, no doubt wondering where the Sangheili had vanished to.

Zharn stood up on top of the Falcon, and nearly fell into the dangerous rotary blades as the air vehicle slightly moved to the right. He managed to right himself, before swinging his body inside the open troop bay of the gunship. Zharn grabbed a soldier who was operating one of the Falcon's side guns, and tossed him out of the vessel, where he began the mortal fall of two hundred metres. He then drew up both swords, feeling a steady wave of bullets smash futilely into his personal energy shields. Looking at the terrified faces of the humans fighting for their lives, Zharn felt a small pity for the creatures. But then he reminded himself of the crimes that humanity had committed, destroying holy relics and defiling the gods themselves.

The Sangheili stabbed his crimson rapier into the neck of one marine, simultaneously cutting another soldier's legs out from beneath him, whose torso and head proceeded to fall out of the shaking Falcon with a scream and flurry of desperately flailing arms.

The final marine, who looked to be slightly older than the ones Zharn had just killed drew out a shotgun, and fired with a barbaric cry. Zharn's shields fell. Another wave of bullets were fired, which clipped Zharn in the shoulder, ripping the skin off and revealing the bone beneath. The marine tried to fire once more, but a resounding 'click' revealed that he was out of bullets. Bravely, the human struck Zharn across the jaw with the butt of his shotgun, breaking one of the Sangheili's jaw bones.

Zharn lashed forward with both blades, sinking them into the chest of the marine who had nearly killed him. The human's eyes grew wide, and he stared at Zharn with nothing but pure, venomous hatred.

"Some day...a person like me is going to _kill_ you," the marine gasped out with his dying breath, before promptly falling limp. Zharn gently lowered the body to the ground, muttering a small prayer for the marine's courageous soul.

Zharn injected his broken jaw and torn shoulder with a shot of numbing fluid, easing the pain tearing through his aching body. He then ripped open the flimsy metal door separating the troop area and cockpit, holding a plasma pistol at the terrified pilot's head.

"Take us to ground, and I shall let you live," Zharn stated bluntly to the female pilot, who nodded in terror. He remained standing as the Falcon gunship descended to the rocky ground below, before landing with a soft thud.

"I did what you asked, please don't kill me!" the pilot begged, tears flowing from her eyes. Zharn nodded.

"I won't," he said, before smashing the Falcon's control panel with a heavy fist, and subsequently knocking the pilot unconscious, "but I'm not about to let you follow me."

_Ahkrin, you'd better be grateful for this_, Zharn muttered inwardly as he jumped off the Falcon to the ground. The base in which his friend was trapped was somewhat in the distance, surrounded by a group of marines attempting a last stand. Colonel Errand, his Demon and the other humans with them had already reached the Albatross at the far end of the canyon, with the technology cache on board. The Demon was holding off the horde of Covenant soldiers throwing themselves against the ship single-handedly. It was impossible not to admire the proficiency of the devil.

Zharn sprinted through the battlefield at a quick pace, dodging the human bullets being fired at him. He took cover behind a large rock, where a squad of Unggoy led by a Sangheili Minor were residing.

"Ultra!" the Minor saluted, as did the Unggoy in his command. Zharn nodded, resting his head back against the rock for a moment and breathing deeply.

"What is our plight?" Zharn demanded of the Minor, who looked to be young and green. Probably a conscript. Like Sorran had been. Zharn felt a rush of sadness as he remembered his dead friend.

"The humans are barricaded in that building, with enough ammo to keep us suppressed for hours. Meanwhile, the Demon and his accursed infidel comrades are escaping with that which we came for," the Minor reported with a tone of frustration.

"What of the Sangheili held hostage inside?" Zharn asked, referring to Ahkrin. The Minor's look grew thoughtful.

"He might still be alive. I am doubtful, noble Ultra."

Zharn sighed -- he knew the Minor was right. Ahkrin was probably dead. Still, he had a duty to pull his friend out from the building; alive _or_ dead.

"Lay down a volley of suppressing fire, I am going to storm the building," Zharn informed the small lance of Covenant warriors, who baulked.

"By yourself? That is madness!" the Minor protested.

"Then consider me mad brother," Zharn muttered, drawing out a rapid fire needle rifle. He dove out from cover, shooting a sniper up on the building's roof with a volley of pink crystals. The shards embedded themselves in the human's body, before combining and exploding, staining the roof with blood and flesh.

The other humans had opened fire on Zharn, but he was too quick for them. With the grace of a Jackal, Zharn leaped up onto the roof of the rectangular building, taking out the other sniper with ease. He searched for a tactical weakness in the roof, and, finding one, primed a plasma grenade. The resulting explosion tore a hole in the heavy steel of the roof, causing molten metal to smother an unlucky marine who had been unfortunate enough to stand underneath. He screamed as he was essentially cooked to death. Zharn leaped down the hole and with a quick slice of his crimson blade, put the human out of his misery.

He could see Ahkrin in the centre of the building's ground floor, tied up and hooked to some form of primitive electric torture device. The marines on the floor Zharn was currently on the fourth, opened fire upon him. Zharn dispatched them quickly with a few shots from his rapid needle rifle. He then ripped a wire from the rafter it was firmly bonded too, pulling on it a few times to test its strength. Hopefully, it would hold. Holding onto the wire with one hand, Zharn leaped off the railings of the fourth floor, abseiling down to the bottom. Bullets fired from marines bounced off his shields as he lowered himself. When he reached an amiable height, Zharn let go of the wire, his heavy boots denting the ground as he landed on the floor.

"Zharn?" Ahkrin cried out as he saw his friend.

Zharn didn't answer the Stealth Sangheili, instead rolling across the ground and swiping a marine across the neck with his sword as he stood back up. Driving his blue sword backwards, he impaled a charging marine in mid-stride. One more remained, but before Zharn could grab him, he had Ahkrin on his feet and with a magnum aimed at his unshielded skull.

"Drop the sword," the human lieutenant shouted at Zharn, who was reluctant to do so. The lieutenant drove the barrel deeper into Ahkrin's head, and finally the Sangheili Ultra let his blade drop to the floor, where it disengaged.

"And your weapons," the human continued, backing away with Ahkrin towards the door. Zharn began to loosen his weapon belt with a sigh. Ahkrin wore an expression which was a mix between fear of dying, and embarrassment at Zharn seeing him in this situation.

"I'm going to back out of this door, get in the Warthog outside, and leave. I'll take your friend with me. When I get to a certain distance, away from the battle, I'll throw him out. You can find him then."

_Yeah, throw him out dead, he means._ Still, Zharn had no choice but to go along with the plan. The marine was moving closer to the door, with Ahkrin close in front of him. He backed up against the metal, electronic door of the building, waiting for the computer to recognise him and open.

The computer never had the time to do just that. One second, the marine was standing calmly, and the next, the huge, spiked hilt of a Gravity Hammer was stuck through the metal of the door and through the marine's chest. At first, the lieutenant looked down with curiosity at the huge spike sticking through his chest. He hadn't fully grasped the situation yet. Then the realisation kicked in along with the pain, and the human began to shriek, grasping desperately at the hilt as if he could pull it out and survive. After ten seconds or so of shrieking, the human's cries fell quiet, and he slumped against the spiked hilt, being suspended by the sheer size of the weapon's handle.

The door suddenly crumpled outwards, and standing in the doorway was a Jiralhanae Chieftain, who looked incredulously at Zharn and Ahkrin. The latter had staggered over to where Zharn stood, breathing deeply.

"We must move. Human reinforcements are arriving in their pods. If we don't leave now, we'll be overwhelmed," the Jiralhanae told the two Sangheili, who looked at each other, before nodding. Zharn handed Ahkrin his spare plasma rifle.

"Lead on Chieftain," Zharn intoned. The Jiralhanae nodded, throwing the corpse of the human lieutenant off his Gravity Hammer and picking up the Sangheili-sized weapon with a single hand. He turned, and began to move.

"Well this isn't how I expected my rescue to end," Zharn muttered to Ahkrin as the two began to follow the Chieftain. Looking around outside, Zharn saw the Jiralhanae had been right. The Covenant forces were being massacred by ODSTs dropping from the skies, which were now completely clear of Covenant Banshees and other air vehicles. The Albatross, presumably along with the technology cache, had vanished too.

"Let's just take the situation as it goes my friend. With this Brute around however, I'll be certain to sleep with one eye open."

There was no option other than to flee, on foot. Zharn and Ahkrin followed the Jiralhanae Chieftain up a small path cutting through a cliff.

The sound of battle faded as they ran.


	19. Chapter 19

**Part 19 - Old habits die hard**

Sorran walked down the sterile avenue of the religious district of High Charity. Whilst it was true that the entirety of the station was holy and pure, this district in particular was the closest to the divine Dreadnought where the Oracle was said to be housed, and as such most religious figures set up shop here.

_Why have I come here,_ Sorran wondered, looking around at the tall chapels and monasteries. He'd woken up, and Restraint had told him that he should go out and get some fresh air. It was hardly fresh, just recycled. Still, Sorran had taken the Minister's recommendation, and had set out from the estate with no real destination in mind. Somehow, he'd wound up here.

He hadn't bothered with his Honour Guard armour. It would have just attracted unwanted attention. Instead, he'd chosen a loose fitting robe, tied at the waist, which was a soft purple ordained with faint silver lining. Hidden beneath the robe where it covered his left shoulder was a small personal shield generator which would offer him some small protection. Attached to his pitch black leather belt was a small civilian class plasma pistol, and his energy sword.

The same things he had worn as a scholar, minus the energy sword, of course. His visit to the Grand Library yesterday had pained him. He hadn't had many friends there, seeing as how most of the scholars were aloof Prophets who refused to fraternise with Sangheili, but seeing his old work place had invoked painful emotions in him.

High Charity was currently in orbit above an uninhabited planet. The station's resource gatherers were extracting precious materials from the planet's crust, most of which would be used to supply the war effort against the humans.  
Atop a dais was a Sangheili, preaching. A crowd had gathered around him, and they looked angry.

"Our gods do not want war, my brothers! Do not believe the falsehoods the Prophets feed you for a second, the Forerunners did not command us to fight the humans. They are as noble and worthy as any of us, and should be welcomed into the Covenant with open arms! The Prophets are merely intimidated by their ingenuity and courage. Oppose the war, brothers. Campaign for the humans to be allowed to join us in our search for the Journey!" the zealotry Sangheili cried, a wild look in his eyes.

"Blasphemy!" a Jiralhanae watching shouted, fists balled. "The humans insult our Lords by defiling the holy relics they left behind for we to reclaim. We must wipe every single one of the heretical swine out!"

The crowd seemed to agree with the Jiralhanae's words, shouting insults at the Sangheili on the dais.

"No! That is a lie, Brute. I myself have fought against these humans, and have found them to be compassionate and caring. They do not defile Forerunner relics! They do not even know of the Journey or our Lords. We must enlighten them, and end this needless conflict."

Sorran watched the scene with a clinical dispassion. He hadn't really given much thought to the humans over the past few weeks. But now that he thought about it, he realised that the whole war was a sham. Sorran did not know exactly why the three Hierarchs had decided to war with the humans, but he knew that the reasons had to be faked.

A heated debate had risen between the preaching Sangheili and the Jiralhanae, and their raised voices had caught the attention of a passing Prophet. The wizened figure leaned forward in his chair for a few moments, assessing the situation, before turning to his Honour Guard.

"Seize that heretic. Bring him to me," the Prophet ordered. Sorran grimaced, and knew what was about to come. He knew he should leave, but felt compelled to remain by a morbid curiosity.

The burly and utterly indoctrinated Sangheili pushed past the rowdy crowd aggressively, eventually reaching the 'heretical' preacher who opposed the Covenant war with the humans. The Sangheili bravely attempted to struggle with the trained Honour Guard for a few moments, dealing a few heavy blows, but was eventually subdued and manacled, before being aggressively dragged off the dais and led towards the Prophet, who had a murderous gleam in his eyes.

"You, Sangheili. Why do you spread these falsehoods and slander with your unworthy tongue?" the Prophet demanded, sneering and aloof.

"I speak only the truth, as our Lord do decree it," the heretic replied courageously, staring the livid Prophet straight in the eyes.

"No! You are a heretic, worthy of neither pity nor mercy. I will end your blasphemy and grant your troubled soul peace. Drown this dissenter Daran'ee," the Prophet ordered his Honour Guard. Sorran's eyes grew wide at the Prophet's verdict. Daran'ee grabbed the shocked heretic with a disgusting eagerness, manipulating him towards the artificial lake some metres away. The heretical Sangheili attempted to resist, but the Honour Guard was over a foot taller than him, and knew what he was doing. With a sickening splash, the Sangheili's head was forced underwater by Daran'ee's strong hand.

The crowd was jeering now at the drowning Sangheili, laughing and pointing. The Prophet who had ordered the death was watching the flailing of his victim with a smug satisfaction.

Sorran watched on with horror, and found his fists had automatically balled. He turned away from the scene, fully intending to walk off and leave the foolish Sangheili to his fate.

_Am I really that cold?_ Sorran posed the question to himself, conflicted. He turned back around, ignoring his common sense. The drowning heretic was still struggling, but his movements were slowing, and Sorran knew that he would die in the next thirty seconds.

To hell with it all!

Sorran stalked towards the murderous Honour Guard, who was laughing, unaware of anything around him. He sensed the crowd's eyes on him, suspicious as he drew ever closer.

"Enough!" Sorran shouted, grabbing Daran'ee's shoulder roughly and forcing him away from his victim. The heretical Sangheili lifted his head out of the water as the Honour Guard's pressure lessened, gasping and pale faced, moments away from death.

"What do you think you're doing?" the Honour Guard demanded of Sorran, drawing up to his full height. Sorran sighed, knowing what was about to come.

"That Sangheili was exercising his religious freedom. You have no right to kill him!" Sorran replied aggressively, drawing courage from an unknown location. The heretic was lying on the ground, water spurting out of his mouth.

Daran'ee didn't reply, instead dealing Sorran a heavy blow in the jaw. He staggered back, reeling and dizzy. A few moments later, Sorran felt his own head in the raging Honour Guard's grasp, and was suddenly forced underwater just like the heretic had been.

Sorran's mouth opened in shock, and a torrent of water flooded his mouth, seeping into his lungs. He immediately closed his jaw, attempting to stay calm. He tried to draw his head back above the surface, but he was well and truly trapped by the other Honour Guard's grasp.

His arms were still free however, stuck high up in the air above the water. And he still had his weapons at his belt. Sorran groped around his waist until his hands clasped around something familiar -- the hilt of his sword.

Driven by some deep Sangheilian instinct, Sorran activated the energy sword with one fluid movement, slicing through its sheath and slicing the Honour Guard who was him in the stomach. Daran'ee gasped as he felt the burning blade sear his skin, and his grip faltered. Not hesitating for even a moment, Sorran drew his head out of the water and drove the full length of the blade deep into the Honour Guard's chest. Purple blood sprayed out of the gaping wound only to be turned into a gaseous, fuchsia vapour.

Sorran shoved the very much dead Guard of the end of his quivering blade with a noise of disgust, and found himself the subject of many horrified eyes. The Prophet who Daran'ee had protected had was frozen with shock.

The only sensible thing to do was to run. Drawing out a plasma pistol, he fired a few warning shots at the outraged crowd behind him, and they fled in the opposite direction instantly. The Prophet was barking orders at them, demanded that they rip Sorran to pieces. His words fell on deaf ears.  
Sorran turned to bolt, and nearly tripped over as his foot connected with the petrified heretical Sangheili who had started all this trouble.

"If you wish to live, you had better follow me," Sorran hurriedly snapped at the shell shocked Sangheili, who was staring with unseeing eyes at the Honour Guard's corpse. Growing annoyed, Sorran kicked him in the ribs, dragging him back into reality.

"Run!" Sorran barked in an uncharacteristically stern and commanding tone. The Sangheili nodded, coughing up one last spurt of water and staggering to his feet, which seemed unsteady. Sorran looked behind him, and saw a group of Sangheili Constabulary step out from a Shadow transport, starting after Sorran and his new friend.

Their armour was slow and cumbersome however, and soon Sorran had darted into a dark, old alley, practically dragging the heretical Sangheili behind him. He listened for a few moments, before pausing.

"We lost them," Sorran stated with relief, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Spending more time in a prison was not one of his top priorities.

"They tried to _kill_ me!" the heretic was gasping out, nearly babbling nonsense. Sorran wheeled on him then, spurred on by anger and distress.

"Did you really expect anything different? Spouting blasphemy, challenging the words of the hierarchs? Had it not been for my far too charitable hand, you would be lying at the bottom of that lake right now!"

And then, to Sorran's complete horror, the Sangheili began to cry, shedding tears freely and without restraint. He realised he'd gone too far.

"I apologise if I came across as harsh, but by the gods brother, what I spoke was the truth. You _must_ be more careful about what you say, especially in these troubled times," Sorran consoled the husk of a Sangheili softly, looking down at his trembling body with pity and compassion.

_Besides, have I not done things just as idiotic in the past -- if not more so?_

"Don't leave me!" the weeping Sangheili suddenly burst out, clinging onto Sorran's leg with dogged determination. Sorran sighed audibly.

_Why me_? After much deliberation, he finally reached a sensible decision. Well, in his eyes at least.

"Worry not dear brother, my Master's house is a place of refuge. I shall take you there. We have much to discuss."


	20. Chapter 20

**Part 20 - Cultural differences**

"Sangheili, I must rest. Mine limbs grow weary of this continuous walking. May we not set up camp awhile?" the Chieftain finally gave in, which prompted the equally weary, if not more so Zharn and Ahkrin to share a secretive, triumphant look between themselves. Neither had been prepared to admit their weariness before the Brute had.

"Very well, if you so wish," Zharn replied loftily, and with masked relief, lay back on the rough forest ground. Two heavy thumps told him that Ahkrin and the Jiralhanae had done so too. Dust particles kicked up around him, only to be incinerated by his energy shielding as they touched it.

"Is the communicator working?" Ahkrin demanded between short breaths, also sprawled out on the ground.

"Nay, I am afraid not. The humans have indeed put up a mighty scrambler, but fear not, the Huragok are no doubt working on a solution even as we speak. Trust in the Path to see us through," the Chieftain replied confidently. Zharn scowled. Was every Jiralhanae a religious zealot? The Sangheili believed in the Great Journey, sure enough, but the Jiralhanae seemed to think about nothing but it.

"What's your name?" Zharn questioned the Jiralhanae, who stood over a foot taller than him, and had a thick white, braided beard which was meticulously clean, unlike that of so many of their kind.

"Orpheus, noble Ultra," the Chieftain replied, a wary look in his eyes.

"That is a strong name," Zharn answered sincerely, wanting to stay on Orpheus' good side.

"And you?" the Jiralhanae then asked his two Sangheili companions.

"I am Ahkrin, and the gormless one over there goes by the name of Zharn," the Stealth Sangheili answered for him.

"Enough pleasantries, I want some answers. Orpheus, how did you know where we were?" Zharn demanded, scrambling to his feet and stretching his aching muscles. The group had made rest in a tall, thriving forest, and night was nearly falling. Looking up at Eridanus II's looming moon, and hearing the sound of wildlife and wind brushing against the trees, Zharn suddenly felt sick. How could they glass something as wondrous as this?

"My pack mates were killed by a human ambush. Rage seeped through my veins, and I killed those barbaric interlopers. Whilst in the berserk state, the body's senses are heightened. I heard you and Ahkrin as you were held and gunpoint as clearly as I would if you were standing next to me, and went down to help. We may be of different species, but we are all of the Covenant," Orpheus replied gravely. Zharn blinked. A Jiralhanae who wasn't a bigot and Sangheili hater?

"Well, thank you Chieftain, for delving down into what was essentially hell to save us. Is there anything I can do to repay you?" Zharn thanked Orpheus. The Jiralhanae was a Chieftain, the highest rank one of his kind could attain, but even a Sangheili Major would have authority over him. Zharn sometimes thought that the Sangheili repression of the Jiralhanae was a little too brutal. It would all end badly, he felt.

"Just fight alongside me noble Ultra, that's all that I ask. We must stick together if we want to make it off this planet alive," Orpheus replied, standing up. The Chieftain was rather small in comparison to most Jiralhanae; he was only the height of Zharn. Still, his chest and arms rippled with raw muscle. "I will go and collect firewood, we should set up camp here tonight. I trust it one of you knows how to create a shelter?"

"Yes," Ahkrin answered instantly, almost in a hostile tone. Zharn recognised that, but Orpheus, who didn't know the Stealth Sangheili, obviously thought he was just weary.

"Excellent. I will be back within half an hour, fear not."

And the Chieftain lumbered deep into the dark forest, hammer in hand. Ahkrin's narrowed eyes followed him until he couldn't be seen anymore. Then the Stealth Sangheili snapped to face Zharn.

"On your feet Zharn, we're leaving," Ahkrin instructed in a brisk tone, no longer sounding weary. He'd been faking it.

"_What?_" Zharn demanded, utterly bemused. Ahkrin was already on his feet, frowning down at Zharn.

"He's a Jiralhanae, Zharn. I don't trust him, and neither should you. If we move now, we can be gone before he returns."

Ahkrin stalked off, obviously believing Zharn would follow him. When he didn't hear those familiar footsteps behind him though, he turned around, puzzled.

"No Ahkrin. We're staying. He saved our lives; you need to stop this petty antagonism towards the Jiralhanae," Zharn told his friend firmly.

"Zharn--" Ahkrin began to protest loudly, before being cut off by the Ultra.

"Don't argue Ahkrin. I know why you hate the Jiralhanae, and I understand. But Orpheus did not kill your mother. You need to learn how to forget, Ahkrin. Holding a grudge for such a long time is unhealthy; the riots have ended. We're staying, and you are too. That's an order."

Ahkrin looked at Zharn then with murder in his eyes, and looked as if he were about to strike him. Then, he cursed, shook his head and sat down sullenly.

"I won't forgive this Zharn," Ahkrin told him icily. Zharn chuckled as he too sat.

"Yes you will, Ahkrin. You always do."

The two sat in an awkward silence for the better part of twenty minutes. Zharn sadly pondered his friend's hatred of the Jiralhanae. When the primate-like race had first been welcomed into the Covenant by the Prophets, the Sangheili had distrusted them. They'd put terrible, constricting restraints on the Jiralhanae, forcing them to live in huts, giving them old, unreliable weapons, allowing even the Unggoy to order them around, and some killed or had Jiralhanae whipped for the tiniest of things. Eventually, the Jiralhanae had decided to revolt, and thus the riots began. Many innocents died in those riots, including Ahkrin's mother and her brother. He had only been six years old at the time.

The riots eventually stopped when the High Prophets stepped in, but that hadn't brought Ahkrin's family back. Ever since, he'd had a hatred of the Jiralhanae. He was sometimes able to put it aside, usually when the Jiralhanae was young enough not to have possibly participated in the riots. But Orpheus was easily as old as Zharn or Ahkrin.

Luckily, Zharn had been close to Ahkrin even at that young age, and his family had adopted Ahkrin as their own. That's when their brotherly bond had truly begun. They'd grown up together, trained together; they were truly brothers in all but blood.

It was when Zharn was reflecting on his thoughts when Orpheus stumbled back into their camp. He looked at the two Sangheili in confusion.

"You haven't made shelter?"

Ahkrin said nothing, and merely stood up, and began to gather the materials he would need to create for them a place where they could rest the night. Orpheus looked at Zharn in perplexity, who just shook his head warningly.

The Jiralhanae fortunately understood his unspoken message, and began lighting the fire mutely, creating sparks with his long, sharp claws.

An hour later, and the three Covenant soldiers had built themselves a safe an amiable camp. The fire had not only warmed their bodies, but it had also warmed Ahkrin's frosty demeanour. Abashed, Ahkrin had apologised to his friend, who readily accepted. He still behaved a little frosty around Orpheus though.

Zharn had managed to catch a Deer which had been galloping through the woods, and so now the three were enjoying healthy portions of cooked venison, seasoned with some herbs they'd found. It had a distinctly alien taste, but wasn't at all unpleasant. There was some left over, and so Ahkrin froze it in a stasis field so it wouldn't spoil. Ahkrin was always prepared like that.

"So what's your story then, Orpheus?" Zharn asked after the meal. He was bored, and Orpheus seemed interesting.

"My story? It's long and bloody, Sangheili. You don't become a Chieftain by shaking hands. I killed my father's brother to attain this position," Orpheus replied casually. Ahkrin's eyes widened in outrage.

"That's barbaric!" he cried in a disgusted tone. Orpheus shook his head.

"No, you misunderstand. My father's brother was old, and he wouldn't have lasted a year anyway. In our society, there is no greater honour than to be killed by a relative, rather than some upstart from another family. He died with a smile on his face," Orpheus explained, but his words didn't alleviate Ahkrin's anger.

"That's disgusting. I knew you Jiralhanae were Brutish, but I didn't realise how much so."

"Sangheili, would you die in your bed an old and lonely husk? Or would you rather leave this world in the glorious rush of battle? For Jiralhanae, it is always the latter; I can only hope that I am one day bested by my kin. Don't try to compare your culture to ours, it's impossible."

Ahkrin shut up after that, thankfully. He could get awfully long winded at times.

The hour was approaching midnight when the human voices broke through the night. Zharn drew out his rifle, and looked at Ahkrin, who had already engaged active camouflage, holding two knives in his hands. The Stealth Sangheili stalked off in the direction of the voices. Orpheus stood up slowly, drawing out his gravity manipulating hammer.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?" the first human voice wondered. Zharn couldn't see the owners of the voices, but he could hear them quite clearly, and they were drawing closer.

"You idiot, there could be Covenant out there!" the second chastised, sounding terrified. The first scoffed.

"Don't be soft, the Covenant don't hide in forests. They're busy attacking the cities. There might by some UNSC Rangers out here though."

"I hope so, I haven't eaten in days. Why does all the wildlife around here move so fast? Catching them is nearly impossible."

"I told you we should have stopped by at the Armoury before leaving Capital City. Then we'd have guns to hunt with."

"And get captured by the Covenant? No thanks, I enjoy living--" the second was suddenly cut off mid-sentence, breaking into a strangled shriek. The other let out a cry too, before being silenced.

Thirty seconds later, Ahkrin strode back into the camp, camouflage fading and two pale faced, terrified humans held in both hands. With a snort of disgust, the Stealth Sangheili tossed the two pitiful looking beings at Zharn's feet.

"What are you doing?" Zharn demanded of Ahkrin, who had already sat down in his previous seat again.

"You're the commanding officer. You deal with them as you see fit."

Zharn assessed the two humans grovelling before him, begging him not to kill them.

"Humans, are you soldiers?" Zharn questioned, and he realised he felt a little sorry for these two. The two humans were frozen with shock, and didn't reply. Zharn drew out his sword, and they immediately began speaking.

"N-no sir!" one piped, trembling. "We're just ordinary citizens. Please don't kill me, I don't want to die."

"Yes, I imagine you don't," Zharn replied, sheathing his sword. "Ahkrin, give these two some food."

The Stealth Sangheili's head shot up.

"_What?_"

"_Food_, Ahkrin. I want you to give some to these two."

"It's hardly a fitting last meal, Zharn."

"Well that's okay, because I'm not killing them. They're not soldiers, and I don't harm innocents. Give them the food."

Ahkrin looked as if he were about to argue, but then noticed Zharn's expression, one of compassion. Ahkrin then realised he was probably thinking about Sorran, who had attempted to save the human child from the Jiralhanae. Sighing, Ahkrin drew out the slabs of meat from a satchel and lowered the stasis field. He then wrapped them in some parchment he had, and tossed the small food parcels at the feet of the humans, who were staring at each other in disbelief.

"Stand up, and get moving. Oh, and incidentally, you are heading straight into a city which has just been ravaged by us. No doubt Jackals remain there, hoping to find stranded humans who are still alive. You might want to go another way," Zharn advised the two humans, who shakily rose to their feet.

"Thank you sir, thank you so much!" the first human said through a sob.

"Be more careful in the future. Others will not be as lenient as I," Zharn firmly told the two. "Now go!"

The humans ran as if a raging Thorn Beast was chasing after them. After a few moments, they faded out of sight.

Heavy footsteps behind him told Zharn that Orpheus was there.

"You are a very strange Sangheili," was all the Jiralhanae Chieftain said. "But an honourable one."

"I wouldn't have done that a few months ago. What has come over me?" Zharn wondered aloud, and Ahkrin smirked. His friend was unable to see the obvious. He had obviously felt compelled to show these humans mercy out of respect for Sorran's memory. Still, Ahkrin knew he should let Zharn figure it out for himself.

"Well, now the drama is over, we should retire for the night. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, if we are to reach Covenant forces any time soon."

"You're right, Ahkrin. That shelter of yours had better hold," Zharn couldn't resist one last dig at his friend.

"Now you're questioning my camp making skills? I spend most of my life out in the field, Zharn. I know how to create a shelter."

"You should learn how to cook properly too. What would you do if I wasn't around to do it for you?"

"I'd probably eat it raw, Zharn."

"That's horrible."

"It's better than the food being burnt," Ahkrin shrugged, before clambering into the tent he'd half erected, half dug. It would hopefully provide some shelter from the elements.

"Orpheus, I made you a different shelter. You're too big for this one," Ahkrin stopped the Jiralhanae in his tracks, pointing to a noticeably poorer quality shelter on the other side of the camp. Orpheus seemed more than a little upset.

"Oh, I see. Well then, good night Sangheili." The Chieftain stalked off, looking a little depressed.

Zharn climbed inside his and Ahkrin's tent. He had to admit, his friend had done an admirable job. The room was spacious, and there were two clearly discernible sections so the two Sangheili could sleep without knocking against each other.

"You made this too small for Orpheus on purpose," Zharn accused, climbing into his makeshift bed. He wasn't facing Ahkrin, but could tell he was smiling.

"Zharn! How dare you suggest such a thing!" Ahkrin replied, pretending to be offended.

"That was unkind of you Ahkrin. Orpheus is a noble warrior, just like you and I."

"I was worried that he might decide to help us die happy by smothering us in the night. Really Zharn, what he did to his uncle was barbaric."

"Maybe in our eyes, but Jiralhanae see things differently."

"Well he can see things differently in his own shelter. May you sleep soundly, Zharn."

Zharn despaired at his friend's hatred of the Jiralhanae. He was going to make the next few days very difficult.

"You too, Ahkrin."


	21. Chapter 21

**Part 21 - Personified Death**

Sorran staggered into Restraint's manor, still a little shaken from his near death experience. His face had been scratched by the tapered claws of the barbaric Sangheili Honour Guard who had attempted to kill him, and purple blood wept from wounds open on his face. The Sangheili who he'd rescued followed him timidly, even more upset than Sorran was. The house was warm, lit, and welcoming.

"Sorran? Is that you? Thank the Forerunners you're back, the city is in an uproar!" the grandiose voice of Restraint reverberated through his home as he descended the stairs in his gravity defying chair. "Apparently, an Honour Guard was killed in the Religious district! The constabulary haven't been able to-"

The elderly Prophet broke off when he saw Sorran's beaten, pale, wet face. Then he noticed the cowering Sangheili behind him.

"Oh, Sorran. Please don't tell me you are the cause of this turmoil," Restraint groaned, hopping out from his Gravity Chair and shuffling slowly over to Sorran, who grimaced apologetically.

"Okay then, I won't tell you," he winced as Restraint touched one of the wounds on on his jaw gingerly.

"Sorran, you're supposed to be laying low! Killing an Honour Guard and rescuing a Heretic is _not_ laying low!"

"I couldn't just let him die, Restraint," Sorran protested weakly, worn out. The Sangheili behind him begin to cough vehemently, pale faced and shivering. Restraint fumed silently for a moment, before closing the door with a touch of paranoia. The Prophet turned to face Sorran as if he were about to rebuke him, when suddenly his expression softened.

"I know, Sorran. There's no changing your nature, I suppose. Jajab!"

After a few moments, an elderly yet energetic Unggoy came into view, staring up at them with a slightly amused expression. As always, the ornate and expensive clothes the Unggoy was dressed in startled Sorran - he was used to seeing the diminutive servants run around in rags.

"Yes, Restraint? I suppose you wish me to clean up your new ruffian of an Honour Guard, yes?" Jajab's language skills were impeccable; most of his kind had only a faint grasp of the widely spoken language of the Covenant, and tended to mix up their speech with feral growls.

Restraint smiled kindly down at the intelligent Unggoy, face conveying pure respect.

"Perceptive as always, Jajab," the Minister laughed. "And try to find out exactly what happened for me."

"Of course, Minister," Jajab replied, before turning to face Sorran with a stern look. "Come along, young Sangheili!"

The Unggoy began to shuffle out of the room slowly, and Sorran looked at Restraint, who nodded.

"Go on. I'll make sure your. . . friend here is well looked after," Restraint told him sincerely. Sorran stared at the beaten, half-dead Sangheili whose name he didn't even know, before turning sharply and following Jajab. The old Unggoy was muttering to himself about troublesome, unruly young Sangheili.

"Your problem is that you think you are all heroes!" Jajab lectured him wisely as he shuffled along slowly, forcing Sorran to take tiny steps. "It's always been so, ever since I was young. Sangheili and their ludicrous system of honour. Too proud of run, surrender, give up, and do the sensible thing. In a way it's admirable, but it is very, very stupid."

Sorran felt his face grow warm. He put a hand to his forehead to wipe away what he thought was sweat, but it turned out to be the purple hue of blood.

"I'm not like that, I've run away plenty of-" Sorran began to protest, before being interrupted by the rambling Jajab, who probably wasn't even listening to him.

"Why I remember once, back during the Jiralhanae uprising! I was serving as a medic with the Fleet of Solemn Contemplation. The amount of Sangheili who refused medical treatment when I offered it to them was beyond belief. I actually had to render a few unconscious so that I could save them anyway. And there was another time when Fort Verity was overrun, and of course I fled with the Unggoy and Kig-Year. But the Sangheili! Even though they were outnumbered fifty to one, they still stayed behind to hold the Jiralhanae off."

"What happened?" Sorran asked, captured by this tale. The image of brave Sangheili facing a savage Jiralhanae army and coming out triumphant blazed in his mind. Jajab looked up at him with a contemptuous expression on his face.

"They were massacred, you idiot. And subsequently eaten."

"Oh." The image faded.

"The fact of the matter is that Sangheili can't let things go. It's like I said; you like to think of yourselves as heroes. The Sangheili who stood at Fort Verity; do you think anyone truly remembers them now? Of course not. I ran, and yet I am still here today, living in these interesting times."

Sorran paused, and thought upon the elderly Unggoy's words. He was right, in a way. Heroism was not always the most rewarding path.

"You served in the army during the Jiralhanae uprising, then?" Sorran asked of Jajab, who grunted through his gleaming methane mask.

"A long time ago, boy. I saw a great many die for a pointless cause. The Jiralhanae got what they wanted though. Needless to say, it was a little more successful than the Unggoy rebellion. Indeed, it saddens me to see my people oppressed so, but it had always been so."

"Forgive me Jajab, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. How did you end up here?" Sorran asked wearily, and felt himself begin to sway slightly.

They arrived in the room where Jajab kept the medical supplies. It was fairly spacious, a soft violet colour, and devoid of furniture aside from a large table in the middle, which was held up by an anti-gravity system, some medical cabinets and some worn shelves housing old scrolls and books running along the right side of the room. The house of Restraint was not one which used digital texts. The Minister preferred physical scrolls and books.

"That is a very long, and personal tale Sorran. I don't think I know you quite well enough to share it with you just yet. Now, hop up onto the table. We'll go about cleaning these wounds." Sorran obeyed the Unggoy's command, and painfully clambered up onto the below-waist-high table. It stooped down a little as his weight exerted on the anti-gravity lift, and bounced up and down a little. His legs hung off the side, gently swaying along with the table.

Jajab moved over to one of the soft metallic medical cabinets, which was at contrast with much of the archaic wooden furniture in Restraint' house. The diminutive yet oddly imposing Unggoy opened the cabinet, and grabbed an armful of medical supplies, depositing them on the small counter adjacent to the table.

Sorran studied them curiously as Jajab picked up what seemed like bandages, although Forerunner technology seemed to be housed within them, if the glyphs running down the sides were anything to go by.

"What are these?" Sorran asked Jajab as the bandages were wrapped around his arms, which had gaping gashes on them wrought by the overly zealous Honour Guard. Immediately the dull throbbing ceased, replaced by a feeling of elation and contentment.

"Healing bandages," was all Jajab answered with, continuing with his work. Sorran frowned.

"Yes, I understand that much. But how do they work?"

Jajab gave what could be considered a shrug with his petit shoulders, adopting an expression of thought. After a few moments, he spoke.

"I don't know. What does it matter? They perform their intended function, thanks to the wisdom of the Forerunners."

Sorran pounded the table with frustration, perhaps a little pain-drunk. Jajab edged back a little, startled by this sudden outburst.

"It's always so, isn't it? We rely on the Forerunners far too much. What if one day their technology ceases to work, or if it turns against us? Say what you want about the humans, but you cannot fault their innovation. Where we simply found the secrets to slipspace travel, they _invented_ their own! It may not be as efficient, but it is their own. What can _we_ claim as _our_ own, Jajab? Mathematics, science; all things that humans have but we do not. When we encounter a problem we do not set our minds to it, we simply turn to the Forerunners for help."

The Unggoy frowned, before placing a small hand on his chest, signalling for him to lie back.

"You're delirious Sorran; it's possible your wounds have become infected."

Sorran was about to reply angrily, when suddenly the world blurred slightly, and a feeling of intense pain shot through his head.

"Be that as it may," he replied sluggishly. "It doesn't make my point any less valid."

"The Forerunners chose us as their successors," Jajab began slowly.

"You still believe that, even knowing the truth about the 'sacred' rings?" Sorran asked bitterly, wincing once again as the deep welts in his skin had pressure applied to them. Jajab hesitated.

"I know that the Forerunners existed, and I believe that they had a plan for us all," the worn old Unggoy answered slowly. "Do you not?"

_Do I?_ Sorran asked himself, realising that he had never really posed the question to himself before. But the answer came to him instantly.

"No."

"That's blasphemy," Jajab replied matter-of-factly. "Not even Restraint is so skeptical about the Forerunners. The sacred rings may not be the key to our salvation, but that does not mean-"

"You're entitled to your beliefs, Jajab. But after all I have learnt, and seen... the Forerunners were simply mortal beings like us. Advanced, certainly, but not gods."

"I fear that you may be the only Sangheili to hold that view," Jajab told him sadly, before applying a sedative patch to his arm.

"The day will come when all learn the truth," Sorran replied sleepily as the drug seeped through his skin and oozed into his blood stream. "And then we shall all be free."

_Restraints bound his wrists and legs as he hung in the air, dishonoured before all. He had been stripped down of all clothing, and a burning mark of shame covered his beaten chest. A shadowy figure glided towards him, execution-sword held in hand._

Crack! _a noise like thunder sounded._

_"This is what happens when you sympathise with humans," the Prophet of Truth snarled, before bringing up the sword and sinking it into his-"_

Zharn awoke with a shriek, and found himself nestled in rough foliage underneath a shoddy make-shift shelter. Rain poured through the gaps, trailing down his body and diluting the cold sweat he had broken out in. He was panting heavily, shaken.

"Zharn, you imbecile! Do you want to bring them down upon us?" Ahkrin's voice hissed as he stormed into the tent, eyes and sword ablaze. Zharn was still shaking.

"W-what?" he asked in an unsteady voice. Ahrkin tilted his head, peering down at Zharn curiously.

"Are you okay?"

Zharn forced himself to stop shaking, and prised himself away from the floor which was moist with rain and sweat, standing up. His loose garments, which he usually wore under his armour, were stuck to his clammy body.

"I'm fine. Just a bad dream. Bring _who_ down upon us?"

Ahkrin glanced skyward up at the shelter's patched roof with a worried expression.

"The humans. Our fleet at this planet has been destroyed, my brother," Ahrkin told him sombrely. Zharn snapped out of his daze immediately.

"Their ships destroyed an Assault Carrier, two CCS-class Battlecruisers and four corvettes? They must have suffered grave losses as a result," Zharn answered, reaching for his armour, which lay in a heap on the ground covered by leaves. Dirt marred its unshielded surface The next words spoken by Ahrkin made him halt in his tracks.

"Eight human ships came. Only one was destroyed."

"Impossible!" Zharn exclaimed as soon as his friend had finished his sentence.

"Alas, the good special operator speaks the truth, noble Ultra," Orpheus' voice rumbled in a low crescendo as he stepped through the mouth of their shelter. "We watched, amazed as eight of their ships - not even the largest ones - managed to outmaneuver our own and turn what I thought would be a decisive victory for us into a tragic loss."

Ahkrin's jaw clenched as he heard the Jiralhanae speak, but managed to force himself to add to Orpheus' input. "They've sent down their Falcons and Pelicans to secure the surface. Without support from the skies, we cannot win. All the long-range transmission equipment was in the fleet. It's possible that they managed to send a message to High Charity before they were destroyed, but I doubt it. The humans know how to jam our communications for a short while, and the battle took them less than twenty minutes."

"Why did you not wake me up sooner?"

"The humans only achieved victory a few minutes ago. I'd seen the ships exit slipspace before that, but never did I think eight ships would be able to defeat our own. We must leave and find transport, and tell the rest of the Covenant that-"

Their words were drowned out by the sound of whirring blades high up in the air. The three rushed out of the shelter and looked up. A human Falcon hung high in the air above the trees of the expansive forest they were in, and it was soon joined by several others. Flood lights were spread out through the dark trees, threatening to reveal their camp.

"_Every Covenant bastard cowering in those trees had better come out of hiding immediately and surrender themselves to my troops, or I swear to your hateful gods that I will nuke the entire province!_" a chilling voice boomed out of one of the Falcons through a sound system mounted on the bottom. A voice that sent shivers down every member of the Covenant's spine. A voice that signalled crushing defeat, or incomprehensible loss. A voice belonging to a human who was a better tactician than even the Supreme Commander.

"Admiral Cole," Ahkrin stated unnecessarily, his voice carrying a despondent air. Zharn nodded, eyes downcast. When Cole commanded a fleet and won, there was no escape. Cole meant death. Except he was offering a surrender. It was very unlike him.

"What do we do?" Orpheus asked, knowing that there was only really one answer. Zharn sighed, thinking. He could hear human voices in the distance, shouting.

"There is only one thing that we can do. Find the nearest humans and surrender."


	22. Chapter 22

**Part 22 - Breaking Point**

"Admiral Cole," Zharn remarked as he entered the UNSC _Everest_'s captain's quarters. A man stood facing a small window, looking down at Eridanus II. A wide desk separated the two, decorated with the captured images humans called photographs and other personal effects. His wrinkled old hands were firmly clasped behind his back, which was as straight as a tree trunk. Cole was much smaller than Zharn, but he emanated the power of a giant.

Cole didn't turn around, didn't even give any reaction to show that he'd heard Zharn. The Sangheili Ultra shifted uneasily, and at his unprompted movements heard the sound of five rifles being brought up and levelled at his unshielded back.

Paranoids.

Cole let his shoulders rise and fall, before walking to another part of his room, still not acknowledging Zharn. Finally he stopped at a wall which was adorned with a wide glass shelving unit, containing rows and rows of medals and commendations.

"All of this," the human Admiral finally spoke, motioning at all the gleaming metals pinned to the wall. "All of it means nothing. After you attacked us life ceased to hold any meaning other than survival."

Zharn was about to reply, when suddenly the Admiral turned around, marched on Zharn and struck him heavily in the side of a jaw with a blunt object.

It hurt.

The Sangheili fell to the ground as a result of both the blow and the shock. When his eyes focused once again he found himself staring down the barrel of a human pistol.

Zharn sometimes found it surreal how something so archaic and primitive could end life.

"There are laws which would prevent me from doing the things I could do to you. But the laws don't apply to you, only humans. So you just remember that when you are dealing with me, Elite." The words were venomous, and filled with raw hatred. Cole suddenly turned away, and spoke over his shoulder to the marines who were acting as Zharn's jailor escort. "Take him to advanced interrogation."

It took a few seconds for the sergeant to reply.

"What do you want us to find out, sir?" she asked, curiously and yet disgustingly eager.

"Nothing," Cole replied in a hoarse, detached voice, the words laced with poison.

They hit Zharn like a low blow to the gut. They weren't going to torture him for information. They were simply going to do it because they could.

"No!" he protested as rough hands grabbed his shoulders. He managed to shake one of the humans off, but soon gave up when the cold steel of a battle rifle was violently rammed into the back of his skull, dazing him.

"Understood, Admiral."

* * *

"Guard!" Ahkrin shouted in the language of the humans. The nearest marine reluctantly inched a few metres away from his post towards him and the chain of Covenant he was manacled to.

"What?" the marine demanded in a hostile tone, looking for all the world like he wanted to bring his assault rifle up and gun them all down.

"This Unggoy's methane supply is arduously low. He will die lest it is replenished," Ahkrin told the guard. The small Unggoy behind him named Tatat nodded in affirmation. The marine studied the two of them for a short time, before shrugging.

"Not my problem," the human said, turning around and walking off. Ahkrin's concerned expression turned to one of anger.

"Of course it is your problem, fool! You are his jailer and as such owe it to him to keep him alive," Ahkrin shouted at the guard.

"I don't owe that little bastard anything," the marine called back at him. "If I had my way I'd throw you all out of the airlock and bring out the popcorn while watching you explode, but unfortunately the Admiral has other plans. We're to give you food and water. Admiral didn't say anything about methane."

"And your kind wonders why it has been judged unworthy," Ahkrin spat, shaking his head at the human's lack of empathy. The marine's eyes blazed, and he marched over to Ahkrin with anger.

"What did you just say?" the human demanded, standing on the very tips of his feet and staring at Ahkrin in the eyes with a feral expression. The Stealth Sangheili did not baulk.

"I said you're an coward who has no honour or integrity. Like most of your-"

_Thwack!_

The fist smashed into Ahkrin's jaw and sent his head sharply reeling to the left. He flexed his mandibles, tasting blood, and turned back to face the human.

"Is that the best you can do?" he taunted with malice, spitting the blood welling up in his mouth at the human's face. The marine didn't flinch, and only brought up his fist and drove it into the side of Ahkrin's face once more, with more force. Ahkrin was dazed for a moment, but was determined not to let the scum with no honour triumph over him. He stood his ground, breathing deeply as an eye began to swell shut. The marine was still glaring at him, and the two of them had an audience of everyone in the room. Several Sangheili looked like they wanted to tear the marine's throat out for hitting a helpless prisoner. Even the humans were frowning at the marine's actions.

"Pathetic," was all Ahkrin said through the blood and pain. The marine's face contorted with pure rage, and he reached down to his side. Ahkrin suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a magnum, and knew that the marine fully intended to use it.

_I need to learn when to shut my mouth._

"The rest will soon follow you," the marine vowed, flicking the safety of the pistol. Ahkrin screwed his eyes tight.

_Bang!_

It was a few seconds after the gunshot when Ahkrin realised he was still alive. Tentatively, he opened his eyes and saw the marine on the ground, rolling around and crying as he cradled a bleeding arm.

"Take this man to the med-bay. As soon as his arm is patched up you will escort him to the brig where he will remain until I decide otherwise," Admiral Cole commanded two of the other guards in the room, who nodded curtly. The Admiral held a pistol in his right hand, which was still smoking. The mess heaped at Ahkrin's feet was lifted up by two of his fellows, who cast a furtive look up at Ahkrin as they bent down.

Cole threw the pistol on the floor with disgust, shaking his head as the marine with no honour was taken out through the large door to the med-bay, the human equivalent of a convalescence chamber. The Admiral paced around the room, staring at the hundreds of Covenant prisoners held in this detention block, which was one of many.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you," Cole shouted, and Ahkrin realised that he was speaking to the other humans in the room. "All of these Covenant are prisoners of war. And they shall be treated with the same courtesy you would show a human POW, unless I say otherwise."

There was grumbling at these words, and Ahkrin caught a few words of dissent. Cole flared then, and raised his voice so much so that it was like rumbling thunder.

"That is an order! And whilst you are on my ship my word is law. Disobeying this order is treason, and you know what we do with traitors. That's all."

The Admiral turned to leave, and Ahkrin heard a small gasping noise behind him. The Unggoy who was running low on methane. Ahkrin knew that it might be suicide, but spoke up anyway.

"Admiral!" he shouted, and could almost feel every other person he was chained to flinch. Cole paused, and slowly turned around, staring at Ahkrin with disdain. Ahkrin realised he wasn't going to get a reply, and so plowed on with his request. "This Unggoy is running out of methane. He shall die if he does not receive more. I'm sure there are many more on this ship in the same predicament."

Admiral Cole stared at him for a few moments, face completely unreadable. Finally he nodded.

"Fine. The little bastards will get their methane. But only for as long as they cooperate."

* * *

_Air._

Bubbles swam past his eyes as the oxygen escaped through his lungs.

_Air._

He tried to bring his head out, but was held firmly in place by rough hands. His eyes grew wider as he bucked and struggled ever more desperately.

_Air! Now!_

His mind was making demands that his body couldn't meet. Midnight began to creep into the edges of his vision, and the struggling began to stop.

And then suddenly-

_Air!_

Zharn coughed and spluttered as his head was finally drawn out from the bucket of water which sat on the floor before him, his knees raw from the attempts he'd made to escape the rough grasp of the three humans restraining him.

One breath. Two breaths.

_Submerged._

* * *

"I did not think that the humans took prisoners," Orpheus said to Ahkrin, shaking his head. The deep voice resonated with the other Covenant prisoners jammed into their cell, a conglomeration of Unggoy and Kig-Yar, for the most part. A carefree Huragok floated above their heads, almost completely unaware of the situation it was in.

"They usually don't," Ahkrin replied curtly, edging away from the Jiralhanae as best as he could. Orpheus sighed as he noticed the Sangheili's movement.

"Hey! No talking!" a young human outside the cell door shouted at them, brandishing about his shotgun with ridiculous bravado. Ahkrin pushed past the small Unggoy in the cell, moving up to the door. The young marine noticed him and brought up his shotgun.

_Does he think I can shoot plasma from my eyes?_ Ahkrin asked himself with an inward chuckle.

"Get back, Elite!" the marine shouted at him, sweat trickling down his brow. Ahkrin grasped the bars tightly, staring at the marine.

"What is this?"

There was a pause as the human processed his question. Finally he lowered his shotgun.  
"What do you mean?"

"Why have you taken us prisoner? I am hardly complaining, but it is most unlike you humans to do so," Ahkrin told the human, whose face contorted into one of unease.

"It's really not my place to say, Elite. I'm not even supposed to talk to hostages-"

"So we are your hostages?" Ahkrin asked the human, brow raising. "Interesting."

"Corporal!" another voice boomed, a female's, yet strangely carrying much authority. It was very curious how the women fought for the humans. The Kig-Yar had their Shipmistresses, but the males still did the bulk of the fighting. The young man Ahkrin had been talking to paled, and spun around.

"Captain! I... uh, I was just-"

"Giving the enemy vital information?" the female captain demanded. She was smaller than the corporal but seemed to tower over him as she glared into his eyes, looking like she was about to punch him in the face. "Get your sorry ass down to reassignment, _private._"

"Y-yes ma'am," the corporal-turned-private stammered, before pulling a sloppy salute and walking briskly away. The captain watched him go, before turning her blazing eyes onto Ahkrin.

"You!" she shouted at him. Despite himself Ahkrin flinched back a little. From a _female._ He was glad Zharn was not here to see him. "Talk again and I will ram a gun down your disgusting throat and put a bullet through it! Understand?"

Ahkrin merely nodded, before shrinking back into the safety of the diminutive crowd. An Unggoy near him chuckled.

He was promptly cuffed around the ear.

* * *

"Enough!" a voice commanded, the words distorted like an image viewed through dirty glass by the water Zharn was being near-drowned in. After a few seconds the marines torturing him pulled his head out of the water, and this time it remained out.

Zharn was breathing heavily, eyes wide and unseeing as the water dripped down his cold, numb face. The bucket he could see terrified him. Zharn had faced down raging Mglekgolo with nothing but a rifle and a grenade, but the still rippling water imbued far more fear within him than they had.

_Do not let them do it again,_ Zharn silently prayed to the Forerunners, hoping they were watching. He realised he was still shaking, and found that he couldn't stop it.

He didn't _want_ to stop it. He just wanted to curl in a corner, shut out the world and never see a drop of water again in his life.

"Take him to my quarters, bound," Admiral Cole ordered, before turning to Zharn. "We're going to have a little chat, you and I."

* * *

_UNSC Hastings, outside Eridanus II's orbit_

"Elite," Admiral Cole stated blandly, staring deep into the small glass of bourbon on his impeccably polished desk. The word carried across to where Zharn was sitting and struck him like a slap in the face.

"Y-yes?" he asked shakily, feeling as if he were about to throw yesterday's meager meal upon Cole's carpet. Water droplets from the torture still clung to his face, dripping down his quivering body and pouring into the ugly red welts that had been made across his body. A human loincloth was all that garbed him.

_What are you doing? You are an Ultra! Has a little torture truly turned you into a frightened Unggoy?_ an angry voice within him demanded.

_Yes,_ a meeker one replied tinnily.

"There are people down on that planet. I'm planning to evacuate as many as I can before the rest of your kind show up. I know that Covenant are still on the surface."

"I suppose there is truth in that statement," Zharn spoke back nervously, unable to look the Admiral in the eye.

_Slam!_

Zharn nearly jumped out of his skin, shrinking back against his chair. He forced himself to look up and saw Admiral Cole glaring at him.

"You will command them not to attack civilians and otherwise as they leave Eridanus II," Cole ordered, and for a brief moment the broken shell of Zharn was bolstered by indignation.

"I am not yours to order around! If my warriors wish to surrender they will do so. I shall not order them to, however. The Council would have my head, and I would be severed from the Journey!" he snapped, raising to his feet. He heard the marines posted at the door raise their guns before he'd even drawn to full height.

"Sit down, Elite, or I'll have you flayed," Cole told him wearily, and Zharn immediately felt the strength leave him as he crashed back into the chair. The Admiral sighed, shaking his head and bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. Zharn could see a band of pale flesh on one of Cole's fingers, and if memory served him this meant that he had once been mated with another human. Zharn could not help but marvel at how this cold, cruel hell-spawned demon had ever gained the favour of a female. Still, the pale band showed clearly that it had not lasted.

"I apologise for my outburst," Zharn muttered, eyes losing focus once again and memories of being plunged into the water arising.

"No, it was very revealing. You obviously still don't understand just how much I dislike your kind. It seems I will have to show you. Raines!"

A marine detached himself from the door and walked over slowly, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Sir?"

"The Elite our friend here arrived with; he's still in the brig, correct?" Cole demanded. After a pause Raines nodded.

"He should be. I haven't given an order otherwise."

"Good. I want you to take him from his cell and airlock him," Cole commanded without feeling as if he were ordering a meal from a menu. Zharn felt his hearts pound urgently.

"_What?_" he shrieked, sitting forward. Cole smiled a macabre smile. The marine named Rains nodded, giving a rapt salute.

"At once, sir."

"No!" Zharn cried, leaping to his feet despite his fear and attempting to stop the marine from leaving to carry out the order. His bound feet did not get far though, and he soon found himself toppling onto the floor, his jaw smashing into the hard metal. Raines glanced down at him with disgust before leaving.

"You are close to this Elite, I take it?" Cole asked him after Raines had exited the room. Zharn still lay on the floor, moaning pitifully amidst the blood and tears. The Admiral strode over, boots pausing just before the purple puddle. Cole bent down, and stared at Zharn in the eyes.

"Don't kill him... please," Zharn begged, too beside himself with worry for Ahkrin to even care about the shame he was dealing himself by stooping to the level of pleading. Admiral Cole smiled then.

"Why shouldn't I? I'm sure that he has killed many of my people in the past. Such a menace should surely be removed, don't you think?"

_I can't lose Ahkrin... not after Sorran._

"If you kill him I won't order the troops still on the surface to lay down arms," Zharn spat out, hating himself for saying the words he was about to say. He knew this heresy would have him killed even if he survived this, and possibly even cut off from the Journey. But he could not let Ahkrin die.

"Oh?" Cole asked, a glint in his eye as he grabbed the bourbon from his desk and taking a swig of it. At some unseen command, two marines came over and lifted Zharn up, before violently thrusting him back into the small, uncomfortable chair. "But I heard you say a few minutes ago that you'd never do such a thing. You were quite adamant, in fact."

"I changed my mind!" Zharn retorted, his throat tightening as he realised that Raines was still carrying out his orders. Ahkrin could be being dragged to the airlock as they spoke.

"Really? Well perhaps I don't care. Perhaps I'll just have you friend airlocked anyway to see your reaction. Being vacuumed isn't a very pleasant way to die, Zharn. The lack of air, the pressure as your friend's insides will be forced out of every orifice in his body, the freezing temperature... not very nice at all, really."

"You can't-"

"Can't I? What will you do, Zharn? Attack me? You're in no position to do so, I think. Perhaps I'll take you down to the observation deck and you can watch your friend as he is ejected into the harsh realm that is space. Would such a thing break you, I wonder?"

Suddenly the communications receiver on Cole's desk buzzed, and after letting it ring for a few seconds the Admiral picked up the matte-black receiver and pressed it to his ear. Muffled words emitted from it, and Cole nodded sombrely.

"Throw him in the airlock, Captain Raines, then await my order," Admiral Cole said softly, before gently placing the receiver on the desk beside him. Zharn stared at it as if it were some evil beast.

"Now, Elite, these next few moments will be very important. Your friend is one button-press away from being thrown through the tunnel and into the great beyond, where he shall most certainly die. I'm going to offer you a choice, and it will be interesting to see how you choose. Your friend does not have to die. You can opt for the second option."

"What is it?" Zharn demanded hurriedly. "Please, I'll do anything."

"Don't be so sure. Your friend's place can be filled by ten other troops you command. If you choose this option then your friend shall live, but ten other various Covenant shall take his place and be thrown out of the airlock. No one other than you, Raines and I will ever know; it'll be our little dark secret."

_A life for ten lives. But it isn't just 'a life.' It's Ahkrin. The Sangheili I have grown up with, my brother in arms. Would I not kill hundreds to ensure his survival?_ But this was different. _The ten who would replace Ahkrin are my warriors. They trust me... trust that I will do my best to serve them and keep them safe from harm. I can't just forfeit their lives for my own selfish gain... can I?_

"Time is ticking, Elite. Make your choice soon or there shall be none at all," Cole hurried, a malicious glint playing about his eyes as the Admiral tightly gripped the glass of bourbon he held in his hand.

"Why are you doing this?" Zharn demanded, eyes watering as he wrestled with the impossible choice before him. Either one would weigh heavily upon him for the rest of my life. Cole's eyebrows rose.

"Because I enjoy seeing you in pain, Elite. Your kind are destroying everything mine hold dear. Billions have died, and you won't stop until every last one of us is dead. Why are you doing this? For nonsensical reasons involving blind devotion to an absurd religion. My reasons for doing this may be senseless, but no more than your own."

"I did not start this war," Zharn breathed heavily, knuckles turning white as he tightly grasped the wood of the chair, cracking it.

"But you do not protest against it, or even question it. Your ask 'how high?' before your Prophets even tell you to jump. It's pathetic."

"I-"

"Enough. I don't expect you to reach an epiphany at my hands. Make your choice, now."

_Curse this man to eternal torment! I wish that I were a great leader but it is not so. Try as I might I can't place ten faceless warriors under my command above a Sangheili I have known all my life. There is no other choice. Forerunners forgive me._

"The ten-" Zharn began to answer, before choking up as fresh tears sprang into his eyes. Cole glared at him.

"I'm sorry?" he demanded, leaning in closer.

"I choose the ten!" Zharn shrieked, losing control. "Kill them if you must, just spare Ahkrin!" The Sangheili Ultra broke down after those words, collapsing onto the desk and weeping uncontrollably into his arm. The choice had been made, and he would forever hate himself for it.

A soft chuckle came from the other side of the desk, triumphant and mocking. Cole observed the broken Elite for a full minute, before picking up the communications device with a smile and pressing it to his mouth.

"Captain, escort the Elite back to his cell and return to my quarters to take the Ultra here back to his own. Be gentle with him, he's had a rough time. If you need me I will be on the bridge."

And with that Cole put the device down on its stand, before easing his chair out from under his desk and standing up. Zharn drew his head out from his arms, looking up at the Admiral.

"But you said-"

"That I would kill ten in your friend's place? They are prisoners of war, Elite, and I will not harm them without good reason. Contrary to your kind's belief we are not barbarians. But you didn't know that. I think we both found out something very interesting about your character today, hmm? So ready were you to kill ten to save your friend. You don't deserve the command you wield."

"You bastard!" Zharn spat, glaring through puffy, reddened eyes at the Admiral. Cole looked down at him with a sad expression.

"Think upon it and you will realise who the real bastard here is, Elite. I am needed on the bridge. Raines will be here for you in a few minutes to take you to your cell; rest well, because in a few hours I think you'll be ready to order your troops on Eridanus II to surrender. If not... well, there's still time enough to throw those ten out of the airlock. And more can follow. Farewell for now, Elite."

And with that, the Admiral left the room, chuckling softly to himself as he did so. The door to Cole's quarters swung shut, leaving none in the room aside from the two marines and Zharn, who sat at the table shaking.

Zharn didn't utter a single sound. When Raines took him to his cell, the first thing he did was crawl into the corner and huddle there, shaking uncontrollably.

The broken Sangheili Ultra continued to do so until Cole called for him once again.


	23. Chapter 23

**Part 23 - Turnabout**

"Why did you save me?"

"It seems I felt a need to deliver upon my foolish act quota for the month," Sorran answered sardonically, sitting down next to the Sangheili he had rescued from the zealous Prophet the day before.

"Foolish or no, you saved my life. And risked your own to do so. If you hadn't, I would be lying at the bottom of that lake."

"I suppose you are right," Sorran mused, a small smile creeping across his still aching jaw. Had he not chosen to intervene yesterday, the Sangheili he was talking to would be dead. And despite the hopes of Jajab and even Restraint, Sorran knew deep down that there was no Great Journey. The promise of the Sacred Rings had been a lie, and everything divine about the Forerunners had been too.

But what had happened to them? If they hadn't ascended to godhood, then what had become of them? And why would they build the Sacred Rings to destroy all life in the galaxy? Surely one would have to be truly evil to do such a thing... were the Forerunners not the benevolent beings the Covenant thought them to be?

"My name is Pel, incidentally," the Sangheili interrupted his deep thoughts suddenly, startling Sorran a bit. His hand was outstretched. The Honour Guard hesitated for a moment, before grasping it firmly and squeezing tightly.

"Sorran," he told Pel, drawing his hand away. This was the most common introduction amongst the Sangheili. Amongst close friends a small cut would be made in each Sangheili's hands as they grasped each other. Blood was important amongst them; it signified life, battle and honour. To exchange one's blood with another made them incontrovertible brothers.

Sorran had only ever done this with Zharn and Ahkrin. Yet he would never see the friends he called brothers again. Nor would he ever see Savara again. He shut the thought of her out before they could flood him with emotion.

"Well met, Sorran. Indeed, the gods must have been smiling down upon me when they sent you. A sure sign that what I was preaching held truth within it."

Sorran blinked, and swore within his mind. He had forgotten that this Sangheili was deeply religious, enough so to risk his life preaching about his slightly modified version of the belief in the Forerunners and their Journey.

"How long will you be with us, Pel?" Sorran asked, and the smile on the other Sangheili's face faded slightly.

"Until I am fully recovered. Restraint has promised me sanctuary until then. I cannot believe that of all the Sangheili who could have rescued me, it was the Honour Guard of a former Hierarch who did so!"

"The Minister is a great man," Sorran muttered, turning to look out of the window. Restraint's manor was situated in the Councillor's district, and dwarfed the rest of the other Councillor's houses. The Forerunner Dreadnought, the centrifugal focus of their worship which held the key to the Great Journey, loomed just a few miles in the distance. This district was even closer to it than the Religious District of High Charity. The artificial sunlight shone brightly, illuminating the large chunk of rock which was all that remained of the Prophets' homeworld. Coupled with the numerous flora and lakes situated around the station outside of the central hub city, High Charity had a distinctly terrestrial feel to it.

Sorran distantly remembered all this from his scholarly studies. Amongst the Sangheili he had had few peers. It all seemed to be a lifetime ago.

"Unlike Truth and his bastard lapdogs, Regret and Mercy. What's your opinion on the war with the humans, Sorran? I suppose you haven't fought in it, being an Honour Guard on High Charity."

"...Right," Sorran finally replied after some hesitation, knowing that it would seem suspicious if he told the truth. Honour Guards were usually selected in childhood. In all honesty Sorran was a protector of Restraint's secret if things should go wrong rather than a protector of the Minister himself. Sorran was a good enough warrior but knew he didn't compare to the likes of Zharn and Ahkrin, and knew that there were many far more skilled than those two.

"Even so, you must have seen the 'casts and heard the news about the war. This isn't assimilation we are doing, Sorran. It's genocide. Our Lords did not want this. And if we continue down this path then it shall take us away from that of the Journey's."

"Maybe so. But what can one Sangheili do?" Sorran demanded, head falling into his gauntleted hands. It was a question he had asked himself many a time over the past few weeks, albeit for different reasons. Pel sighed heavily too.

"Nothing. You saw what happened yesterday, Sorran. That Prophet would have had me killed simply due to me speaking out."

"Leaders don't like it when you contest their words," Sorran answered tartly. Pel shook his head.

"Perhaps not, but at least the humans allow it."

"They _what?_"

"I jest not. When serving in the military as we lay siege to their farming colony, Harvest, I came across records which seemed to explain the human governmental system. I believe it was a school I found them in. Apparently the humans vote for their leaders, and are allowed to speak freely without fear of being punished-"

"You must be mistaken. They all follow the orders of their military leaders, and disobeying gets them a 'court martial,'" Sorran retorted, recalling a little bit of what he had witnessed whilst in human captivity on Eridanus II.

"They're under an Emergency Military Government now, because of us. We're destroying everything they are little by little."

"How much longer do you think they will last?" Sorran asked Pel, who seemed well-informed about this subject matter. The Honour Guard had forgotten about his hatred of this petty war recently, but speaking with the other Sangheili brought it flooding to the surface.

"Each of their worlds falls within less than a quart of a cycle, and every counter-attack they initiate consists of fewer and fewer ships. But finding their worlds is a challenge, due to what they call the Cole Protocol."

"I've heard of it," Sorran answered, moving to a basin and pouring himself a goblet of water to wet his dry throat.

"I've seen ships which could easily escape our fleets turn back to destroy a navigation centre, even when it means that they themselves will die. Their resolve is remarkable. I know few Sangheili who would do such a thing," Pel gave Sorran a meaningful look, and the Honour Guard rolled his eyes. He wasn't a hero. His conscience got the better of his logic at times, much to his despair.

"I wonder why they have not been allowed to join the Covenant then," Sorran mused, when suddenly he underwent an epiphany.

_Do they know the truth about Halo?_

That would explain why Truth wanted them all dead. But he couldn't discuss this with Pel. He had to find Restraint and converse about the revelation with him. Perhaps the Minister knew more.

"I must go now, Pel, and attend to me duties. Will you be okay?"

"I think so, I should get back to my worship anyway. Thank you for speaking with me, Sorran. I appreciate it."

"Any time," Sorran nodded, his brow darkening as he turned away. Pel seemed like a nice enough fellow, but he was as blindly devoted as religious zealots came. Once he would have admired that in a Sangheili, but now it just seemed like a huge flaw in character.

_He can never learn the truth. Even I had trouble coming to terms with it, and I was never too caring about the Great Journey anyway. But if Pel discovers that everything that makes him who he is is just one giant farce... I fear for what he shall do, to others and himself._

The door swung shut as Sorran left, and he could faintly hear the chanted prayers of Pel through the thick walls.

* * *

"If you can hear this, then know that the words I, Sangheili Ultra and your commander in absence of greater authority, require that the words I speak must be followed to the bone as if the gods themselves decried them in the stars. The humans are evacuating their people from this planet. Do not attempt to stop them. Admiral Cole has given his word that you shall all be left alone if you adhere to this. Any who disobeys without provocation shall not receive any defence on my behalf when the humans retaliate. I-"

The communications link was suddenly cut off, and Zharn looked up with surprise at the satisfied yet equally weary face of Admiral Cole. The Sangheili Ultra swallowed nervously.

"That will be all, Elite. You have done well, and for now we're on good terms. Well, as good as they can get."

_For now?_ Zharn despaired, not wanting to go through the horrible events of the night again any time soon.

"Shall I be returned to my... cell?" Zharn asked aloud, glancing nervously at the bridge crew who were all staring at him intently. He hoped that the fear in his expression could not clearly be seen.

"Not just yet. I would like to talk with you first; not an interrogation, just a few light questions I'd like you to answer. I have a bottle of long-fermented wine stored away... do your kind drink, Elite?" Cole added to the end of his sentence, seeming genuinely interested.

"If you are referring to the consumption of alcohols, then yes. We ferment them differently to you, with your primitive natural process and basic methods of forming ethanol, propanol, methanol, butanol and such, but the end result is largely the same."

"Good!" Cole enthused, although the smile forced across his face was shot down long before it reached his wrinkled, steely eyes. "We'll head down to my quarters then, and this time there won't be any agonising moral choices. That was very fun though."

"I did not find it amusing," Zharn answered curtly, his old edge tentatively creeping over the cover it had fled behind when the torture had began. Cole stared at him with an odd look.

"Of course you didn't - that's why I enjoyed it."

Zharn suddenly wanted to distance himself from this man. Wanted to speak with Ahkrin about what had happened. Wanted to be back on the winning side.

"In all honesty, Admiral, I am tired and would prefer sleep to-"

"I wasn't asking, Elite. We're going to share some drinks, and talk about things. There is no other option, unless you'd rather spend the night out in space."

"No! That's not necessary Admiral, I'll come with you," Zharn replied hastily, the confidence that had been slowly returning scarpering away once again to find a rock to hide under.

"Splendid. Captain Raines, escort us. We wouldn't want our new friend here getting any funny ideas, would we?"

* * *

"_Admiral Cole has given his word that you shall all be left alone if you adhere to this. Any who disobeys without provocation shall not receive any defence on my behalf when the humans retaliate. I-"_

"Heretic," one of the Unggoy nearby Ahkrin whispered as he heard the words surge out from the intercom in the corner of the detention block. The Operative had him in a deadly grasp in a second, grabbing his shoulder tightly in a place which, if squeezed hard enough, would bring about quick and painless depth.

"What did you say?" Ahkrin demanded harshly, and the small alien looked up at him, terrified. He suddenly felt a large, rough hand on his shoulder.

"Ahkrin," the voice cautioned in a deep baritone, and he turned his head slightly to see Orpheus staring at him intently. Ahkrin scowled, and pushed the small Unggoy aside onto the floor before shrugging off Orpheus' haired hand.

"Don't touch me, Brute," he spat venomously, using the human derogatory term for the species before wading his way through the Unggoy and putting distance between him and the Jiralhanae, whose expression was pensive and hurt.

"Sangheili, I know that you worry for your friend, but taking your frustrations out on these Unggoy is not the right thing to do."

"What do you know of companionship, Brute? You, who killed your own uncle in order to gain further stature."

"That's not fair, Ahkrin. Our customs are not the same as-" Orpheus began, face darkening as the Unggoy clustered around him for protection from the raging Sangheili backed away nervously.

"Exactly, Orpheus. You and I are completely different. Do not presume to know me."

"Ahkrin-"

"Hey!" the female captain from earlier barked, marching over. "You, the Elite with the attitude. There something wrong?"

"It's hardly any of your concern, _human,_" Ahkrin answered disdainfully, hands shaking as he contemplated marching over to the bars and grasping her by the throat. He could have her lying on the floor dead before the marines could react.

_Be calm, Ahkrin. Do not let emotions overcome your training,_ the voice of his mentor echoed within his mind, and he forced himself to steady his breathing. An assassin such as he must be patient. The time to strike would present itself.

"I'm making it my concern, split-lip. I won't have you causing trouble. Marines! Take him to solitary confinement. Elite, present any resistance and I'll personally kick your sorry ass into the airlock, or even the fusion core if I'm feeling nasty."

The doors of the cell opened, and three marines roughly grabbed Ahkrin far harder than necessary. Their grips weren't fully encompassing though, and Ahkrin knew that he could break free of their grasp, kill the first two with a snap of the neck and a chop to the throat before scooping up a fallen weapon and levelling the third plus the female captain.

_Patience, Ahkrin. Their deaths would bring about your own._

And so he let them take him.

* * *

_High Charity, Grand Council Chambers_

"I have some most troubling news that we must attend to first," the voice of Truth spoke, ringing throughout the halls of the Council Chambers. A podium stood before him, holding a voice amplifier that increased the volume and strength of his voice.

Sorran stood next to the Minister of Restraint in a private stand high up in the expansive chamber, gripping the railing tightly as he stared down with hatred through the energy shields of the cubicle at the Prophet who had ruined his old life. He felt a soft hand brush against his shoulder.

"Peace, Sorran," Restraint told him quietly, and Sorran forced himself to relinquish his hold on the poor railing and draw back, resuming his post next to the Minister, Hem standing on the other side.

_My first Council meeting. Back when I was a scholar I had dreamed of one day becoming a Councillor and having my own voice heard throughout these halls. A foolish notion, in hindsight. My ancestry is not nearly noble enough for me to become a Councillor. And I wouldn't want to anyway. See their corrupt faces, how they eagerly lap of every lie-laden word Truth utters._

"The occupation at the human planet, Eridanus II, has gone quiet. Undoubtedly this is the work of the humans, who have clearly retaliated with an armada and destroyed our fleet there," Truth began, and immediately his words were drowned out by the cries of thousands of Councillors and their Honour Guards discussing this news.

Sorran felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

_Savara... my love. Her ship has left that system, and so she should be safe. But Ahkrin... Zharn. They were stationed at Eridanus II,_ was all he could think, his mind shutting out the uproar cascading around him. He looked up and saw that Restraint and Hem were staring at him grimly.

"They may yet live, Sorran. Take heart," Hem smiled sympathetically, and Sorran forced himself to recover, staring back out at the Council chambers. Truth held up his hands, moving the frail, long fingers down as he signalled for order. Finally, the youngest Hierarch and the one who had inadvertently revealed the secret of Halo to Restraint spoke.

"Order! We demand order!" Regret shouted, his voice carrying loudly throughout the hall. The Sangheili Councillors reluctantly fell quiet. They respected Regret as he had once been a warrior in battle, one of few Prophets to do so. In recent years though, the new Hierarch had become more and more slobbish, to the point where he almost needed a gravity chair like the other Hierarchs.

_Were it not for us, the Prophets would never be able to survive,_ Sorran realised, chuckling as he imagined Truth or one of his ilk doing manual labour. They were weak, but their promise of the journey and supposed connection to the gods made them strong.

"Thank you, noble Prophet of Regret," Truth intoned with a forced tone of camaraderie. Regret nodded, moving back slightly. Recently, Regret had seemed very irritated, and the prevalent rumour was that he had allowed a Forerunner world holding artefacts and weapons that could end the war with the humans instantly be destroyed by a lone human ship which had followed them from Harvest. An Arbiter had also been killed. That would explain why Truth seemed displeased with him.

But of course, Regret couldn't just be replaced. He knew too much. But Sorran suspected that some day Truth would have Regret killed, if not directly then through some other, slyer method.

"After conferring with my fellow Hierarchs, especially the wise consul of Mercy, who unfortunately cannot be here at this present point in time, we have reached a hard yet unquestionable decision that is the only option. Eridanus II houses few of our lords' artefacts, and there is little reason to remain. Sending reinforcements would be a senseless waste of life."

"No!" Sorran cried out, his speech drowned out by the uproar that surged through the Council. It was once again quickly silenced by Regret. Truth sighed heavily.

"This is not the perfect solution, but it is one we have deemed necessary. I take it no High Councillors have objections?"

There was silence. Sorran stared at Restraint incredulously, who looked troubled. Hem caught Sorran's expression and grimaced. Still, Restraint did not object.

"Minister!" Sorran cried out, causing Restraint to flinch. "Surely you will not let this stand? Zharn and Ahkrin are there, as are countless others who need help! You cannot-"

"Sorran, it is not that simple. When Truth asks if there are any objections he does not truly mean those words. Despite what I know Truth does not believe that I will ever act upon this knowledge, which is why he only sends lone assassins occasionally to remind me of what he shall do if I become defiant. If I challenge his words-"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this! I thought you were a good man, Restraint! I thought that you had ideals and morals! But it turns out that you're just a corrupt and pathetic husk like all the rest," Sorran snarled, sweeping his arm to indicate the rest of the subdued Council chamber. Restraint's eyes flared, and Hem's expression became even more uncomfortable if that was possible.

"How dare you, Sorran! I-"

"You're a coward, Restraint. High Councillors are meant to defend the people against injustice, and challenge the words of the Hierarchs. You claim to hate Truth and all that he does, but when you have a chance to act against him your remain quiet. I'm disgusted."

Restraint's words died in his throat, and shame swept across his face. The other Honour Guard noticed this.

"Sorran!" Hem shouted indignantly, stepping forward. "You go too far-"

"No, Hem. He does not go far enough. You are right, Sorran. Too long have I sat in the corner, afraid of what might happen if I do something. I have forgotten what it means to be a High Councillor. But no more."

And with this Restraint stood up out of his gravity chair on shaky, thin legs, trembling as he moved slowly towards the edge of the small box we stood inside. With an unsteady hand, he activated the amplifier inset into the walls of the stand and cleared his throat.

"I object!" he cried out strongly, the words ringing through the Council chambers and striking everyone in the room like daggers. As one, thousands of eyes turned up to face Restraint, wide and unbelieving. In the centre, Sorran could see Truth and the other Hierarchs stare up at Restraint, too shocked to show any rage.

"..._What?[i]" Truth demanded in a hoarse whisper, his throat bobbing up and down unpleasantly as he swallowed. A deadly silence had descended upon the Council chambers._

_"You heard me, Truth. I, High Councillor Restraint, object to this decision. Tens of thousands of our warriors are on that planet, and they may yet live. We cannot abandon them. I will not allow it."_

_"...[i]What?_" Truth asked in a quieter voice, still disbelieving. Suddenly, another voice rang clear through the chambers.

"I agree with Restraint," a Sangheili High Councillor in a booth opposite them declared proudly. Recording devices were flying around the room now, attempting to capture every reaction to ever word.

"As do I!" another joined in, this time a Prophet.

"And I!"

"This travesty cannot be allowed!"

"We owe it to our warriors to rescue them!"

Soon the Council chamber was full of voices demanding that the Hierarchs' decision be overturned, the objections becoming nearly deafening as hundreds called them out. Truth was shaking with rage, hands curled up into fists as the protests smashed into his eyes. Finally he could take no more.

"Very well!" Truth bellowed, voice shaky with shock and anger. "It seems that we have been overruled in this matter, and I will... I will bow to the wishes of the Council. A new fleet shall be assembled and will leave for Eridanus II within the week. This Council session is adjourned!"

And with that the three Hierarchs stormed away, their Honour Guards struggling to keep up with them as they flew off in fury. Applause rang throughout the Council chamber at the decision, and Sorran looked at Restraint, who turned around with an expression of glee on his face.

"Thank you, Minister!" Sorran cried out, rushing to help Restraint back into his chair. The Prophet shook his head at it, brushing the Honour Guard away.

"I do not want it. Too long have I sat down and remained silent whilst injustice and corruption has knocked others from their feet. I will take a stand, and support myself from now on. You have shown me what it means to be a High Councillor once again, Sorran. It is I who owes you thanks."

"Restraint, Truth will not let this slide. You haven't challenged his words since you were disposed seven cycles ago," Hem interrupted, smiling but with concern etched across his face. "To emerge once again like this... you have shown him that you are not afraid of possibilities and threats. I am proud, but fear that life shall become much more difficult for us. You may wish to procure more Honour Guards and strengthen the defences around the manor."

"See to that then, my friend. This is only the beginning. Truth, Regret and Mercy shall not find themselves able to do what they wish without protest any longer. I shall be dogging them every step of the way."

Sorran looked back out at the Council chambers as Hem and Restraint left through the door in the back of their box where the private transport ship of Restraint was waiting outside. The other Councillors were leaving now, and the mood was uplifting.

_I've done all I can. I may not be beside Zharn and Ahkrin any longer, but I will still protect my brothers in any way possible. Try to stay alive long enough for my efforts to not go wasted, my friends._


End file.
